


The Lab Around the Corner

by AmandaRex



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Fitzsimmons Rom-Com Challenge, Mistaken Identity, Online Romance, Romance, Science, alternate universe - You've Got Mail, background Huntingbird - Freeform, background Yoyomack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 58,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7993912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaRex/pseuds/AmandaRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons are CEOs of competing labs in New York City, each of them approaching their jobs from completely different perspectives. They are bitter rivals. Unknown to either of them, they are both also avid players of an augmented reality mobile game called Exiken, and they've been corresponding with each other behind the pseudonyms the game provides them.</p><p>They're competing for the Orion Foundation grant, money that Jemma needs to support a huge expansion she's undertaking at Simmtech, and money that Fitz desperately needs to keep his own company, TRC, afloat.</p><p>Their online lives and real lives surely have to collide at some point, when they live mere blocks apart and their competition for the grant pits them against each other.</p><p>(A Fitzsimmons You've Got Mail AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Eternal gratitude to lettertoelise and chinesebakery, for beta, edits, comments, support, and general fun times. Thank you both so much for all of your help.
> 
> This story was written as a part of the Fitzsimmons romcom challenge, organized by The Fitzsimmons Network (@thefitzsimmonsnetwork) on Tumblr.

Fitz pulled the hood of his jacket a little closer to his face as he hurried down the street, bracing himself against the chill of the early morning wind as it sliced through the air. He kept a sharp eye on the map on his mobile, determined to walk only as far as he had to in this cold. When he was close enough to his goal, he began to recapture his favorite access point in Exiken, an enhanced-reality mobile game he'd been playing. 

"Hey, buddy. Watch it!" growled the man behind him, and Fitz realized he'd stopped rather abruptly.

"Ah, sorry." Fitz moved out of the way, putting his back to the outer wall of the nearby newsstand, and gave the man an apologetic look that did nothing, apparently, to quell his ire. "I...uh...realized I had to look at something."

The man grumbled under his breath as he turned and walked away, and Fitz shrugged it off, looking down to see his team had lost this ground overnight. The access point ahead was the red color of the Insurgent team, so Fitz would have to walk there, wait for the app to geolocate him, and then perform well in a minigame or two to capture the point.

Looking down at the sweatshirt and jeans he'd hastily pulled on to go out and kill time while Daisy was monopolizing their apartment's only bathroom, he couldn't believe he'd found a game enjoyable enough to get his arse off the couch or out of the lab in favor of roaming the city to gain ground for his team, the Founders.

The mini-game fired up and Fitz smirked the moment he saw which of the eight possible games had been randomly selected. He'd spent a bit of time modeling strategies for this particular puzzle and he doubted there was anyone in the city who'd be able to beat his score.

Forty-seven seconds later, Fitz made the final move and the puzzle screen blinked at him, letting him know he'd won, and with a healthy margin that would hold the point for his team for quite awhile.

That wasn't enough for Fitz, of course. He brought up the local leaderboards that kept track of the fastest solve times for each of the games, hoping this performance would finally catapult him to the top of the list. He began to walk home, scratching at the back of his neck as he waited for the standings to update. 

The grid lit up his display and he groaned, seeing his username, 'circuitbreaker', in the number two slot. He knew before his eyes even slid upward who had put in the superior time, though he smiled a little when he confirmed it.

At forty-three seconds and sitting almost insurmountably in the top spot nationwide, was 'stargazer'. He smiled, despite himself, when he saw he had a private message waiting for him. Though he knew he should be annoyed to bested by her yet again, he couldn't quell the feeling of anticipation as his finger hovered over the mail icon.

`To: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`  
`From: stargazer@founders-faction`

`Imagine my dismay, upon recapturing a fifth access point today for our team on my way home, when I found I'd been beaten yet again by you. Six captures in one day? Tell me, circuitbreaker, you aren't hacking, are you? How can you expect the rest of our team to keep up if you keep painting so much of the west side blue on your own every day?`

`I confess, I wonder sometimes about your hobbies. Are you a runner? A cyclist? Do you have some other reason to roam the city?`

`Ah, but don't answer. I'd prefer us to keep on with our mutual air of mystery. So much more exciting this way.`

`Surely, with as much time as you must spend outside, we can talk about the weather. Wasn't it lovely yesterday? The ideal autumn afternoon in New York, with just a hint of chill in the air. I took my afternoon tea to the park and counted a half-dozen species of warblers as they migrate south for the winter, all of them chattering to each other as they flitted around.`

`I like to think they're all sharing information about where the good bread crumbs can be had, or which is the best cafe on 85th.`

Fitz grinned at the screen, feeling the familiar thrill he always got when she mentioned a place in his neighborhood. He might have walked past her on the way back to the apartment this morning and he wouldn't have known it. Secretly, he hoped she might feel the same way, that there was a reason she seemed to pepper in references to the places she visited during her day.

He let himself into the building, taking the steps two at a time on his way to the third floor. He was hoping Daisy had gone to bed after her marathon night of blogging and tweeting, or at least that he'd be able to slip past her again as he had on his way out.

Shutting the door quietly behind him, he crept toward his room, sure he'd make it without having to listen to Daisy's snark about where he'd been.

"I can't believe they invented a game that actually gets Leo Fitz to venture outside." Fitz squeezed his eyes shut and hunched his shoulders, freezing in place at the sound of Daisy's voice. "And before your shower, no less. You aren't just playing on your way to and from work anymore. You're obsessed with this thing!"

When he refused to turn around, she got on her tiptoes behind him and rested her chin on his shoulder. He sighed, carefully pocketing his phone, and swiveled to face her.

"Don't even try to cover, I saw you with your face plastered to that screen. There isn't even an access point up here, is there?" Daisy smirked at him, eyeing his hip, and Fitz wondered if Daisy was nosy enough to actually shove her hand into his pocket merely to prove her point.

He put his hands on his waist, making sure his fingers covered the opening of his pocket, and grimaced as she giggled at him.

"I have to get into the shower, Daisy. Some of us have jobs where we actually have to leave the house."

"Social equality and economic reform don't happen by themselves, Fitz, and you know that my blog—"

"Of _course_ , I understand how important your work is to help people coordinate their efforts to affect change, Daisy." He tried to keep the smirk off his face, not wanting to show how pleased he was with himself for how quickly he'd managed to derail her, giving her a distraction from her continuing interrogation about his morning activities.

"Yeah, it is! And—ha! You're trying to change the subject." She giggled triumphantly as Fitz sighed. "Are you finally going to tell me what's so engrossing about this game?"

"It's fun. It's challenging. You saw me trying to break down the patterns behind one of those minigames, trying to get to the most efficient strategy for winning it."

"So...eight minigames have kept you interested for months? You, who scoff at every mobile game I've ever been addicted to?" Daisy was watching his pocket again, looking terrifyingly like she was thinking of ways to extract his phone.

"This game isn't mindless tapping on crops to water them, or putting food out for cats who just sit there doing nothing," Fitz said, thinking quickly of things incendiary enough to distract her. 

"Don't you say anything against my cats. Those cats depend on me for food and things to lay on while they look adorable." She narrowed her eyes at him. "And stop trying to change the subject."

Fitz groaned. "There's a social aspect to it, all right? I'm on a team. It makes me feel connected to people. You're the one who's always saying I should get out there and talk to someone who isn't you, Coulson, or Mack."

"You talk to people on this team?"

"Yes, I do," he said, taking his phone out and brandishing it at her. "I was about to read a message from one of them, in fact, when you insisted on interrupting and keeping me from—hey!"

He swiped his hand at her after she plucked the phone out of his grasp, quickly running her thumb across the display to wake it up.

"This is why you should have a passcode, Fitz!" Daisy danced away from him, her eyes greedily running over the text on the screen as Fitz pursued, trying to get the phone back. "Hey, this is _flirty_. You're flirting with some nameless, faceless person on your team."

"She's not nameless or faceless."

"So you know her name, and you've seen her face? Have you guys exchanged selfies?" Her eyebrows went up, her expression made of pure delight. "Have you been sexting?"

"No!" He took advantage of her momentary lack of attention to grab his phone back, holding it carefully with both hands. "I only know her screen name. We've been talking for a few weeks. It probably won't ever be more than that."

"She's _wondering_ about you, Fitz. She's fishing for information." Daisy rolled her eyes. "I bet I can hack this app, break into their server and get her sign-up info. Leave your phone with me and I can probably have her name and address by the time you get home from work."

"You're delirious. You just stayed up all night putting up those blog posts. It is _not_ okay to hack into their server. I can't come up with bail money for you now, not until I can start taking a full salary again."

Daisy's face softened. "Don't you want to meet her? Even if it doesn't go anywhere, Fitz, you really need to go on a date or two."

"I'm happy with the way things are," Fitz told her, bracing himself for her to call him grumpy or make up some ridiculous nickname she'd expect him to answer to for the next week. Her blatant sympathy and concern was immeasurably worse.

"Fitz...sweetie. No, you're not." She put her hand over his where he clutched his phone, no longer trying to steal it.. "You're not completely happy. Lie to me, that's fine. Just don't lie to yourself."

Daisy steered him toward the bathroom and gave him a little push. He stumbled away, frowning a little.

If he wasn't such a terrible coward, he thought to himself, he would suggest that he and stargazer should meet in person someday soon.

If he wasn't such a terrible coward.

* * *

Jemma eyed her phone, sitting on her bedside table, as she jogged on her treadmill. She'd left it out of reach on purpose, knowing she might be inclined to check in on Exiken. That might tempt her to cut her workout short in favor of using the time to capture an access point before her 9:00 am meeting with May. No matter how much extra walking the game was encouraging her to do, she did some of her best thinking on her treadmill and didn't want to give it up.

She made a deal with herself, deciding to shave ten minutes from her running time if she took the long route to work. The treadmill began to slow as she went into her cool-down, and she resolved to wait until she was out of her shower to touch her phone. She was a grown woman. She could wait.

Hopping onto the frame as she stopped moving, she grabbed her towel and dabbed at the sweat slicking down her neck. She hummed to herself a little, trying to enjoy the quiet calm of the apartment in the morning, but she couldn't divert her attention away from her phone.

There it sat, and as much as she wanted to pretend she wasn't looking forward to finding out if circuitbreaker had responded to her message yet, she had to admit she was...a bit curious.

Perhaps more than curious.

She looked both ways, then squeezed her eyes shut when she realized how ridiculous this was. No one was going to jump out from under her bed and accuse her of having a crush on a man she'd never met. She was perfectly well within her rights to pick up her own mobile whenever she wanted to, and do anything she'd like to do with it.

What she wanted, she was fairly certain, was to open the app. If that meant she'd also notice whether she had any new messages...well...it would be silly to ignore a message alert. Wouldn't it?

`To: stargazer@founders-faction`  
`From: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`

`Forty-three bloody seconds. Are you joking me? You accuse me of hacking (AGAIN, I might add) and then you turn in a time that bests the fastest time I'll ever get by four seconds?`

`I'd say you've gone to the birds, but it seems you might take me literally and join the warblers as they go south, and I can't hold our neighborhood for the Founders on my own. `

`My co-workers are always telling me I should go out, maybe eat my lunch on a park bench, re-acquaint myself with the sun. I suppose I'm a bit of a workaholic. Do you think I should give it a try? I'm not sure I could tell a warbler from a woodpecker, but perhaps that's not really the point.`

`Which *is* the best cafe on 85th?`

She sat on the edge of her bed, her smile reflected back by her screen as she tapped the reply button. It seemed oddly dangerous, yet exciting, the idea of telling him which places around town she frequented. If she gave him the name of her favorite cafe, she knew she'd have to restrain herself from shouting out, "Is circuitbreaker here?" every time she went there. A shiver went through her she wanted to attribute to the chill from the workout sweat cooling her skin, but she knew it for what it was.

Anticipation.

She had a feeling she and this mystery man were working toward a real-world meeting. Someday soon she'd know who he was, get a chance to talk to him and find out if he was as compelling in person as he was in their silly, flirty messages. She'd never felt a connection like this before, often finding herself wondering how much more they might have in common.

He'd mentioned doing statistical analysis on the different minigames in Exiken, a detail she found painfully attractive. She'd begun to theorize he might be a college professor, perhaps specializing in statistics. His display of logic when they discussed the game was so systematic that academia or...dare she hope...some branch of hard science seemed rather likely.

She shook herself out of her speculation, deciding to finish the message by giving him the location of the cafe. If she decided to stop by and get herself a coffee on the way to work, maybe scan the crowd to see if there was anyone else playing Exiken, she couldn't be blamed for that.

* * *

By the time Fitz was out of the shower, the apartment was quiet again. Daisy must have succumbed to sleep, letting her blog spin on without her for a few hours. He gathered the journals he had been reading through off the kitchen counter, stuffing them in his backpack along with his latest side-project schematic.

As he set out, he opened the game on his phone to check the access points he'd pass on his way to the lab. As soon as he found one of them red, he tucked into an alcove just off the sidewalk, rushing through the minigame to flip it back, yet he saw it change color before he finished. He scanned the crowd for the other Exiken player, but other than a few people talking far too loudly into their phones, no one else seemed to be using theirs.

Fitz rounded the corner, sneering at the Simmtech sign he had to pass every day on his way to work. They'd just poached yet another employee from him, the third one to leave TRC to work for May and Simmons this year. He suppressed the urge to kick the sign, putting away his phone and rushing across the street while there was a break in the traffic.

* * *

"Got it!" Jemma said to herself, realizing a moment too late that perhaps she'd said it a bit too loudly. May appeared in the doorway to her office, shaking her head.

"If you were one of the regular employees, you'd have fired yourself by now for playing that ridiculous game on company time." May's inscrutable face showed no hint of a smile, nor any other telltale signs of expression, really, but Jemma had known the woman long enough to understand she was joking.

"On the contrary, there's ample scientific evidence that a series of short breaks taken over the course of the day, if mindfully applied, increase overall productivity. I can find the studies for you, if you'd like."

"That won't be necessary," May said, this time letting a quiet smile through as she looked at Jemma over the edge of her tablet. "I'd like to go over the budget for the expansion, if you have time. We received updated numbers from the contractor this morning, based on the adjustments you made to the plans at the end of last week."

"We'll need Lance and Bobbi—"

"They're on their way. We should hear them coming any moment now."

Jemma winced. "Oh, you mean they're—"

May held up a hand to stop her there. "I don't know, and I don't care. Not unless it interferes with the normal course of business."

There was indeed some noise in the hallway, far away, turning to hushed, angry-sounding stage whispers as they got closer. By the time Lance and Bobbi got there, breaking apart to drop into chairs on opposite sides of the room, they were seething, silent, and glaring at each other.

"Let's break these last-minute budgetary changes down as quickly as possible, if we could." May stood next to Jemma's desk, hands on her hips, effortlessly commanding the room. "I have a meeting in 20 with the contractor and then a conference call with three of our suppliers, and I have to be done with that before lunch."

"Three martini lunch with Phil again, hmm?" Bobbi asked, her eyes dancing now she'd finally broken her staring contest with Hunter. "Do we have to worry about corporate espionage? You're spending an awful lot of time with the enemy."

May rolled her eyes, and the set of her shoulders was subtly reminding everyone in the room that she held a black belt in several branches of martial arts. "My friendship with Phil is one of the few things maintaining this détente between TRC and Simmtech." May frowned at Bobbi now, but there was no real fire in it. "If you'd stop recommending we hire away their employees, it would make relations between our companies simpler."

"I can't help it if they keep submitting their resumés." Bobbi shrugged, leaning back and grinning. "And we both know you secretly love winning."

"I wasn't aware it was a secret," May replied. "If we could get to business now, however...? Hunter?"

Hunter cleared his throat, looking down at his notes. "The expansion of our security system into the new space was installed over the weekend. They'll have to add a few stations once the lab areas are built out, but the area is secure enough to start bringing in the equipment."

"We're sure it meets the specifications of our more stringent government contracts?" Jemma asked, holding up her hands in silent apology at Hunter's outraged expression.

"She had to ask, Hunter," Bobbi began. "If we move forward and it turns out—"

"The system exceeds spec, and I got them to throw in the Saturday hours without bumping up their labor rate because of how much work we've given them. You're welcome, by the way." Hunter cocked his head to the side, looking expectantly at Jemma.

"Thank you, Lance," Jemma said, patting him gently on the shoulder in a deliberately patronizing way, which elicited a giggle from Bobbi. Trying to head off the incoming snipe war between the two of them, Jemma rushed to question Bobbi about equipment delivery dates.

"The custom centrifuge we ordered is on schedule, but it's still a week out. The discharger and heel removal system we asked them to modify is in final testing." Bobbi tapped on her tablet a few times, nodding as she ran her finger along the screen. "The more standard items—lab tables, stools, computer stations, micro imaging systems, and consumables like beakers, test tubes, and pipettes, they're all arriving between now and Thursday. The lab should be fully functional within the next ten days, assuming the final build-out stays on schedule."

"Our contractor has promised walls will be up by close of business Wednesday, painting and finishing done by Friday," May recited, and Jemma felt a little thrill at the smooth progression of the expansion project. The new labs could be up and running a full two weeks ahead of schedule, allowing them to pursue new contracts at an even more rapid rate.

"Don't get too comfortable," Jemma told them, and she heard Hunter groan as he scrubbed his hands down his face. "Blame yourselves for being too good at your jobs if you must, but now that the details for the construction have been worked out, it's time to turn our attention to securing contracts...and the enormous Orion Foundation grant that's up for grabs." She sat behind her desk, leaning forward on her elbows and beaming at her most trusted employees. "Now. Let's talk _strategy_."


	2. Chapter 2

Fitz barely dodged another person on the sidewalk as he tried to walk and re-read stargazer's last message, smiling to himself as he reached each of his favorite parts. He slipped through the front doors of TRC, giving Koenig a nod where he sat at the reception desk. (Though, of course, if you asked Billy, it was the 'guard station'.)

Mack caught up with him in the hallway as Fitz was pulling out his keys, struggling with them a little to find the one that would unlock his office. Most of the difficulty was caused by his bullheaded insistence on keeping his phone out, stargazer's words still shining up at him from the screen.

"Do you know what a warbler looks like?" Fitz asked him, his eyes still running over the message.

"A what?" Mack was looking at him like he'd just descended from Mars.

"Never mind," Fitz said, stifling a laugh that threatened to bubble out of him, filled with pure joy. He'd have to carve a little time out of his day to think of some sort of worthy reply. "What did you need?"

"We have a field trip in today, Turbo. Think you'll have time to drop in?"

Fitz looked up from his phone, still trying to switch gears and really take in what Mack was trying to tell him. His distracted, "What?" helped him stall for a moment.

"Thinking through a design? I can come back—"

"No, nothing like that." Fitz baubled his keys, Mack reaching out to keep them from hitting the ground. "I just..." he began and he glanced at his phone, smiling before he could stop himself. "I might grab lunch somewhere today and eat it outside. We're light on meetings, aren't we?"

"Fitz," Mack began, laughing. "I just told you we have a field trip coming through. Did you get _any_ sleep last night?"

"Oh, I'm fine." Fitz waved his hand, as though pushing away Mack's concern. "What time is the field trip?"

Mack consulted the tablet he was carrying. "Showing up at noon and they'll be around until four."

"Plenty of time, then." Fitz nodded, cementing the plans in his mind. "I'll get lunch early and drop in when I get back."

"You..." Mack trailed off, looking uncertain. "Hey, Fitz. Are you okay? You seem a little distracted this morning."

"Yeah...I'm—" Fitz stopped. He'd been keeping this to himself, worried he was getting too invested in messages from a woman he would most likely never meet, but he was already feeling a little better about it after Daisy pulled some of the truth from him earlier that morning. Mack was a good friend. Perhaps talking to him might help, as well.

Fitz checked the hallway, and was just about to start when one of his youngest employees, a recent graduate from M.I.T., brushed past them. Not really wanting the story to become workplace gossip, Fitz pocketed his phone, found his key to unlock the door, and gestured to Mack to follow him inside.

"I've met someone," Fitz whispered, as though the entire staff had their ears to the door, straining to hear. He tried to shake himself out of it, realizing he was being ridiculous. 

" _Met_ someone, you mean? Like, a _date_ someone? When did you find time to go on a date? You've been _here_ non-stop for weeks."

"No date, Mack. Just some...talking."

"Did Daisy finally set up that online dating profile for you?" Mack's face was straight as he said it, but he broke out laughing when Fitz reacted, his eyes widening as he made a mental note to grill Daisy and make sure his face wasn't on any accounts he wasn't aware of.

"No. We met another way." Mack continued to stare Fitz down and Fitz shifted from side to side, weighing the discomfort of admitting what was going on against the relief of actually being able to discuss it with someone.

Well, someone other than Daisy, who was likely to take things too far, hacking servers and getting Fitz more information than he was ready to deal with.

"Fitz, man. You don't have to—"

"She plays Exiken." Fitz pushed the words out, the sounds running together in his haste to get the admission behind him.

"What?"

"You know...the game I’ve been playing." Fitz winced as Mack rolled his eyes, suddenly remembering every time the two of them had been out and Mack had to wait on a sidewalk somewhere while Fitz tapped madly on his screen to beat a mini-game. "All right, I know you don't exactly love the game, but...I've met someone through it."

"It's a long distance thing?"

"No, she's in New York. I think she even lives, or works, on the west side." At Mack's obvious confusion, he elaborated. "We're friends in the game, and that means I can see which access points she tends to visit. They're all in this neighborhood." His eyes fixed on a point on the wall over Mack's shoulder, his vision blurring as stargazer's words came back to him. "Her favorite cafe's on 85th."

"How much do you know..." Mack stopped, waving his hand in front of Fitz's face to get his attention. "...about this person?"

"We were really careful at first. She's the only other person in this sector of the game map who can challenge my minigame performance, so the first messages were competitive. She accused me of cheating, in fact, until I went into the method I was using to solve one of the puzzles. Then we talked about strategy, and after that...we've started talking about other things, too."

"How do you know 'she' isn't a 55 year old man? Even if you've seen a picture, it could have been taken it off the internet, Fitz."

Fitz shrugged. "I guess she could be lying, but I don't know why she'd bother. She has no way of knowing who I am, and even if she did know, it's not as though I've got a fortune she's trying to bilk me out of. I can barely keep this place afloat," Fitz said, gesturing vaguely around himself. "It wasn't romantic at first." Fitz frowned down at the floor, remembering that neither of them had ever really strayed outside of the realm of friendly banter. 'I mean—it's not necessarily romantic now. I know she says she's a woman, and our birthdays are in the same year, just a few weeks apart. Don't know what she does for a living, or anything else. But I know—" Fitz stopped, chancing a look at Mack, afraid of what he'd see there. "I know that I _want_ to know. But maybe just...not quite yet." 

Mack's head was cocked to the side, a look of utter sympathy on his face. "Fitz," he said, shaking his head. "You haven't even met her, and you're already gone. Gonna be careful, aren't you? If you meet this girl, arrange to do it in a public place. That way if she's crazy...or a 55 year old dude, you can make your excuses and get out of there."

Fitz crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at his shoes. "Like I said, Mack. I'm enjoying what we're doing, for now. It's nice, sending messages. Seeing that notification on my phone. Never knowing what she'll say, wondering if we walked past each other on the street. The mystery, Mack. It's...good. And I think that's where she is with it right now, too."

Mack clapped his hand down on Fitz's shoulder, nodding. "All right, Turbo. You know what you want. What I need to know from you right now, is if you're ready to run the company, or if your head is still in the clouds—or that phone."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Fitz said, shaking his head a little to clear it. "You said something about a field trip coming through?"

"You approved it two weeks ago. We have a video lined up for them, then we'll do some hands-on engineering stuff. Design some circuits, let them try out the bots and drones, maybe build some gumdrop and toothpick bridges. Just wanted to know if you were going to stop by, do that aerodynamics thing you've done at our Maker's Corner fairs. You had the group last month flying paper airplanes around for two hours."

"Ugh," Fitz said, pushing the heels of his hands into his closed eyelids. "It's not that I don't want to help, Mack, I really do. I support hosting the field trips and the outreach programs, you know I do. It's just—the kids. I don't know how I'm supposed to act around them."

"They're humans, Fitz. Just younger ones," Mack said, giving Fitz a lopsided grin. "You were one, once."

"Not really," Fitz said, realizing a moment too late how it sounded, and he caught Mack's pained reaction before he covered it. "It's all right. Sorry. Just whinging. I didn't have such an awful time of it. Just...an awkward one."

"You're great with the kids, Fitz, when you relax and forget to worry. Up to you, though, I can cover the whole thing if you have other stuff on your plate." Mack turned to leave, and then appeared to remember something. "Yeah, and Coulson wanted to see you. Want me to let him know you're here?"

Fitz shook his head. "I'll drop by." He dropped his bag by the side of his desk, grabbing his work tablet from the charger. "In fact, I'll walk you out."

* * *

"We really don't have to do this, Bobbi," Jemma protested, but Bobbi was shoving Jemma's coat into her hands.

"Of course we don't _have_ to, but I think we should. There's no reason for you to inspect the lab build-out, because Hunter and May have it covered. Our current projects have perfectly competent coordinators, and the protocols are being executed by a staff you hand-selected." Bobbi gave her a stern look. tugging the lapels of Jemma's coat closed after she'd half-heartedly pulled it on. "This place practically runs itself. That means we have time to try the new sushi place that opened a few blocks over."

"Oh, that does sound lovely," Jemma ventured, biting her lower lip in indecision. She'd planned on sneaking into the new construction (with the hard hat she'd stashed in one of her desk drawers—safety was very important) and trying to visualize the layout of the tables and lab equipment. _And_ if she spent some of her lunchtime hidden away in the new space while the construction workers were on their break...she'd get quite a lot of uninterrupted practice on the minigames. She'd found it quite challenging to keep her times faster than circuitbreaker's ever-decreasing marks.

Jemma looked at Bobbi, remembering the hushed, angry-sounding whispers she and May had overheard her exchange with Hunter earlier. Perhaps Bobbi needed to talk. It seemed silly to be preoccupied with a game when a friend might need a kind ear.

"Of course we should go," Jemma said, heading for the door. "But only if you let me buy."

* * *

Fitz changed direction three times in front of the building on his way out to lunch, vacillating about going to the cafe stargazer had recommended. In the end, it didn't feel right somehow. Perhaps he really did want to prolong the sense of mystery between them, something he'd only realized as he'd explained their situation to Mack. 

Instead, he ducked into a nearby corner of Central Park after he got a sandwich from his favorite deli, munching on it with some chips as he watched the birds flit from tree to tree. He had his notebook with him, the one constant he carried in his bag in case he needed to scratch down the details of a sudden idea.

This time, the pencil found its way between his fingers and he sketched out rough shapes, refining them into the rounded bellies and heads of the small birds overhead as they chattered to each other. He softened the lines in some places, suggesting the fluffy look of the feathers along their chests, then smoothed the lines of their wings and the sharp points of their beaks until they were defined and streamlined. He wished he had a set of colored pencils, worried he wouldn't really remember the bright, sharp yellows and blues or the ruddiness of the red patches if he came back to this drawing later.

When the reminder alarm on his phone went off an hour later, he swallowed back his mild disappointment. The break had revitalized him more than he could have anticipated—he couldn't remember feeling quite this good for ages. 

He looked down at his sketch, feeling oddly connected to stargazer. He knew it was crazy, thinking about her as much as he did, already finding himself so attached to someone he'd never properly met. It was insane, really, how his first thought when doing nearly anything now was how he could tell her about it and what she might say in return. If he was smart, he'd pull back.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he took a quick photo of the page in his notebook, uploaded it to an anonymous share site, and sent the image link to stargazer via an in-game message.

`To: stargazer@founders-faction`  
`From: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`

`Check out this link if you want to see what I spent my lunch hour working on, sitting on a bench in Central Park.`

`Is that a warbler? I wasn't sure, as I didn't overhear any of them talking to each other about cafés.`

He headed back to the lab, flipping a few access points back to blue on the way, but he was interrupted halfway through his walk by a text from Coulson.

`[ Coulson: ] Mack tells me you're out to lunch. I tried to tell him you've been out to lunch for years, but...`

Fitz groaned aloud at Coulson's unique brand of humor: constant lame 'dad jokes' (as Mack called them) laced with straight-faced snark.

`[ Fitz: ] Please tell me Mack didn't take pity on you and laugh at that terrible joke.`

`[ Coulson: ] He didn't. I'm vastly underappreciated here. I do need to talk to you, though, as soon as you get back. Mind if I wait in your office?`

`[ Fitz: ] Make yourself at home.`

Fitz felt his pace slowing a bit, drawing the walk out. Coulson had been requesting more and more private meetings over the past year, sharing his concerns that Simmtech was slowly squeezing them out of the running for contracts, grants, and the best employees. He must have gotten some news at his lunch with Melinda May that would give Fitz yet another headache to deal with.

He was irrationally angry at Coulson for being the constant bearer of bad news, an attitude he was trying to shake before he got back to work. Fitz knew that Coulson and May went way back, working together—before Fitz had even been born—on government projects so secret that both of them went silent whenever anyone tried to ask about that stage of their careers. If Coulson needed to share something May had divulged to him, Fitz should know about it, whether he would enjoy hearing it or not.

* * *

"Jemma?"

Jemma looked up from where she was hiding her phone in her lap, trying to keep any traces of guilt out of her expression. She felt a little bad about dividing her attention between Bobbi and her phone, but Bobbi had spent the last twenty minutes complaining about Hunter, covering the same ground with minor variations, and all she appeared to require from Jemma was the occasional, "No!" or, "Ugh."

"I guess this is a little unfair of me, when we're both your employees. He _did_ do a good job taking care of the security installation over the weekend," Bobbi offered, as though she was trying to balance the scales a bit. 

Jemma turned her full attention back to her friend, whose fingers were absent-mindedly worrying at an edamame husk. Covering Bobbi's hands with hers, she silently urged her to stop.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened the last time the two of you tried to date?" Jemma asked.

"That depends. Are you going to tell me what you're doing with that phone you're hiding in your lap?" Bobbi's eyebrows raised, her impish expression letting Jemma know she wasn't angry, but Jemma winced all the same.

"I'm so sorry. I knew all you really needed was some time to vent, and as you pointed out, I really shouldn't let one of you complain to me about the other."

"So you're saying Hunter doesn't call me 'Hell Beast' behind my back?"

"Well..." Jemma began, surprised Bobbi knew about that. Jemma had been concerned it would hurt Bobbi's feelings if she discovered Hunter's uncharitable nickname and she'd been trying to get him to stop using it. "I admonish him whenever I hear him say it."

"I'm sorry, Jemma. Thanks so much for letting me vent."

"Of...of course." The guilt began to eat away at her, and she quickly hit the button to turn off the display on her phone, turning it upside-down on her thigh for good measure so she wouldn't be tempted again.

"I assume you're ruminating on some sort of new project? That's why you didn't want to come to lunch, because you knew your mind would be elsewhere?" Bobbi's head cocked to the side, eyes apologetic. "It's probably brilliant, too, and here I am, ranting about Hunter again."

"Well..." Jemma stalled. She'd bent the truth with Bobbi plenty of times, but she didn't think she'd ever been as close to an out-and-out lie than she was right now. It would be easy to put her phone down and let Bobbi think her mind was on work, and it might even be kinder than telling her it was a game (and a person Jemma had never met) that had her so preoccupied.

She sighed, retrieving her phone from her lap and laying on the table, then pushing it over to Bobbi. Bobbi bit her lip with curiosity as she looked at it.

"A bird? Are we branching out into ornithology?" She glanced at the ceiling, as though trying to remember something. "We don't have any specialists in that area on staff, but I could certainly look into recruiting—"

"Oh, just stop, all right? You win. Obviously you aren't about to find me an ornithologist."

"I can't believe you thought you'd get away with it!"

Jemma rolled her eyes. "Yes, I thought I was fooling you before. I should've known there was no way I could get anything past you, no matter how engrossed you were with the menu or making lists of Hunter's many faults."

"Okay, I knew I didn't really have your attention, but I've gotta admit...I really didn't see the bird coming."

"That's a sketch someone I know did earlier today, while he was eating lunch in Central Park." Jemma ran her finger along the lines of the drawing, blushing when she saw Bobbi was smirking at her.

Bobbi whistled, pushing Jemma's phone back to her. "I thought you'd be playing that game, honestly."

"Well, I did, when we first sat down." Jemma rushed the next words out, raising her voice a little to be heard over Bobbi's giggling. "But it was just one minigame, and it was after I'd decided what to order, while you were still looking over the menu. It was really just to pass the time so I wouldn't distract you while you decided between the Chicago Fire roll and the Scorpion King roll."

"Yes, distracting me with your pleasant company at that point would have been disastrous." Bobbi was clearly amused and Jemma was relieved she wasn't angry, but she still felt terrible.

"I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have, not without asking if you minded, at least."

Bobbi waved her hand dismissively. "It's fine. Let's move past that. I want to get back to this friend who draws birds and immediately sends them to you." She leaned down when Jemma bowed her head in mild embarrassment. "Are you seeing someone? Someone you haven't even told _me_ about?"

"No. I can definitively state that I am _not_ seeing someone." Jemma felt a bit smug about her answer, honestly. Though it did seem like a bit of a technicality, her statement was true by any definition of the word.

"You have a platonic friend who draws you birds. Nothing strange about that at all." Bobbi stared at her and the two of them sat there, at a stalemate.

Until Jemma broke.

(It didn't take very long.)

"I've been dying to talk to someone about it, actually, if you're interested." At Bobbi's enthusiastic nod, she went on. "I'll have to ask you to keep an open mind. What's going on—if it's anything at all—it isn't that uncommon these days, I'm given to understand. It's just—I'm perhaps coming at this concept from a slightly different angle than most."

"Which differentiates this...whatever _this_ is, in no way whatsoever than anything else you've ever done in your life. Really, Jemma. For someone who says she likes to play by the rules, I've never met anyone in my life who's as talented as you are at not only thinking outside the box, but refusing to go anywhere near the damn thing."

Jemma took a deep breath, then plowed forward with her explanation. "Did you know there's messaging in Exiken?"

"Your bird man is someone you know through that game?" Bobbi clapped her hand over her mouth, clearly delighted. "Of _course_ he is. Have you set up some sort of nerd date where you walk around town fighting for points, or whatever it is?"

"Access point capture, I believe is what you're referring to. And no, we haven't. We've never met. We've never discussed meeting. I don't even know his name, other than the screen name he uses for the game."

"If you had to give a rating to these messages...if they were a movie...what would it be?"

"G, of course! Honestly." Jemma lightly smacked Bobbi's hand as Bobbi dissolved in peals of laughter.

When she regained her composure, Bobbi asked, her eyebrow raised, "Are you happy with that, or will you be bucking for...brace yourself...a PG-13 anytime soon?"

"Oh, ha ha." Jemma braced herself for the teasing to continue, but when it didn't, she looked down at her phone, blinking a few times as her thoughts—thoughts she'd been blocking because she hadn't been ready to admit it—coalesced into the incontrovertible truth. "I really wouldn't mind if they did...stray into a more restrictive rating." She chanced a look at Bobbi, feeling ridiculous. Jemma had flirted with plenty of men before, and was no stranger to the dating world. Why did this feel so different and strange?

"Tell me about him. I want to know everything."

Their server approached the table, putting the tray of various sushi rolls down between them, and Jemma echoed Bobbi's murmur of thanks before he disappeared again. They both ignored the food, Bobbi obviously intent on extracting information, while Jemma struggled to think of some way to explain their particular, non-specific brand of correspondence.

"If you'd like to know everything, or even his name, for that matter, you'll have to make an Exiken account and ask him yourself. I don't know that much about him...from one perspective, I suppose. From another, I know quite a lot."

"Okay, maybe that makes sense to _you_ , but you'll have to explain that one."

"I know how he thinks, how he breaks down a puzzle and finds ways to solve it. How his mind works. How he explains things, and the strange metaphors he uses that are somehow utterly perfect. I know how he takes his tea, after a quite memorable string of vehement messages back and forth defending our different preferences. His quiet, borderline-sarcastic sense of humor." Jemma couldn't believe what she was saying, or the misty look in Bobbi's eyes as she listened, nodding her head in encouragement. "He also lives or works in such close proximity to where we're sitting right now," Jemma added, looking over Bobbi's shoulder to peek through the front window of the restaurant, "that he could have just walked past in the crowd of people on the sidewalk, for all I know."

"So?"

"So...what?" Jemma asked, but she knew what Bobbi meant.

"What are you going to _do_ about it?"

"For the moment? Exactly as we've been doing." At Bobbi's annoyed huff, she continued. "Things are so busy at work. We've got the buildout—"

"Which has been delegated to people you trust, who have it well in hand," Bobbi countered.

"That new contract—"

"May is pursuing that, and she can handle it on her own."

"And the grant." When Bobbi opened her mouth to speak, Jemma held up a finger to stop her. "Yes, I know May will also be writing the application for it, and she's an expert. There's the presentation, though, which I'll be heading, and I've got to say the right things to the right people at the reception the foundation is throwing next week."

"You're brilliant, you know. You could juggle those things and this, no problem."

"Perhaps. But I'm not going to chance it." She gulped, having yet another realization for the first time. "I really like him, Bobbi. Despite knowing hardly anything about him. I'd like to take my time, enjoy this part, and be clear-headed if—"

"When," Bobbi corrected.

"—if we take things any further." Jemma poured some soy sauce into her dish, then picked up her chopsticks. "I'm famished, aren't you?"

"I'll let it go for now," Bobbi said, using her chopsticks to pile an extra clump of wasabi onto her first roll segment, "but only because this Scorpion King roll looks _amazing_."

* * *

Fitz nodded at Coulson, absorbing what he was being told, but not really wanting to hear it. He’d been inadvertently backing toward the door, looking for an escape from the conversation.

"I didn't ask her, she volunteered the information. May wanted to let me know because she knew we'd also be hoping for the Orion Foundation grant. They intend to win it, Fitz, and I think they'll be tough to beat. You shouldn't let all your plans for the company's future to rest on this goal. We need to—"

"I know what you're about to say, Coulson." Fitz was irritated now, and he wasn't bothering to cover it. "I've already explained—in detail—what this company will and won't do."

"You're too careful, Fitz." Coulson wasn't hiding his exasperation, either. "Worse, you're too judgmental. You refuse to produce or licence your designs more often than not. You dismiss contracts we could bid on because you're too suspicious of everyone's intent but yours."

"And you're not suspicious enough," Fitz told him, crossing his arms over his chest to add a touch of finality to his statement. 

"Fitz," Coulson began, looking uncertain for a moment before his mouth tightened into a thin, determined line. "I know you started this place with the intention of continuing the work your father was trying to do with his company back in Scotland."

Fitz bristled at the mention of his father, and wondered if he should have confided that information to Coulson back when they were trying to get TRC off the ground...especially if Coulson was going to dredge it up just to throw it back in his face.

"What your dad did...what you're doing now, it's noble. I hear it from every grant administrator we approach for funding, from every company we pursue contracts with. Especially when they have to turn us down because they think another company's proposal was stronger. But Fitz..." Coulson stopped, squeezing his eyes shut, and when he opened them and spoke again, the pain on his face was obvious. "There's a reason you told me that you and your mother were afraid he worked himself to death."

"I'm not my father, Coulson." His mind was racing, looking for holes to poke into Coulson's argument. "And the world's different now. There are so many more opportunities, more funding for companies trying to make a difference."

"And more companies _competing_ for that funding," Coulson countered. "Just...think about it again, Fitz. I really don't think we're sustainable under the current status quo. Sometimes you have to live for the world you have, not the one you want."

"We are. You'll see. I'm going to put all my energy into getting this grant. I can turn this around, just watch." Fitz could tell Coulson wasn't convinced, but he put his hands up in a gesture of surrender, and that's all Fitz needed for now. "If we're done here, I need to look in on the field trip, take them through the aeronautics presentation."

Fitz turned and walked away, pushing his shoulders back and trying to exude nothing but cocky determination that he was right.

If only he was sure of that, himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz watched from a distance as some of the kids maneuvered drones through the aerial obstacle course Mack had designed, while others worked on programming the land-based robots through a maze. He couldn't help wondering if they'd be disappointed to have these activities halted for him to walk in with nothing but a few reams of paper under his arm.

Mack waved him in, rolling his eyes at Fitz's shrug.

"I'm glad you could make it," Mack said when Fitz walked in, still not convinced he was as entertaining as the electronics.

"They'll be bored to tears, Mack, and wondering why they had to stop playing to get handed a sheet of paper." Fitz watched as one kid pumped his fist into the air nearby, celebrating his robot's successful navigation through the maze.

"You say that every time, and every time, half the kids are talking about how this was their favorite part when we send them back to their buses." Mack stepped away, calling out for the room to quiet down and listen. "This is your ten minute warning. We'll be moving onto another activity soon, so make your last trials and wrap up your programs."

Fitz noticed the teachers, two women and a man standing in the corner, when one of them walked forward to tack on an extra message. "We've been assured by Mack that all of your programs will be emailed to the school's robotics club if you'd like to keep working on them. They have some equipment that can run the same programs you've been creating today. Maybe this will entice a few more of you to sign up for the club."

Mack got the movie ready, which would give the kids a quick overview of paper airplane designs, suggest ways to fold and tear to create certain structures, and hopefully, get them excited to try it out for themselves.

Fitz pulled an envelope out of his bag, then carefully removed the four flattened airplanes inside. With a meticulous attention to detail, he straightened each one, angling the wings just right and testing the weight and balance of them in his hands until he was satisfied.

By the time Mack called a halt to the robotics portion of the day and brought the group to Fitz's set of long tables in the far end of the room, Fitz was as ready as he was ever going to be.

"Who here has ever made a paper airplane before?" he asked, smiling when most of their hands shot up. "Okay, keep your hands up if you think you've made a really great one, one that can fly a really long way before it falls." Some of the hands went down, the kids giggling, but a few of the cockier-looking kids kept their hands up.

"I don't know," Mack said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "I've seen my man Fitz's airplanes fly before, and I don't think any of you can build a plane to beat him." Mack turned to the kid who looked the most affronted at what he'd just said. "Hey you, with the buzz cut. How far do you think your best plane can go? To the wall?" Mack pointed at the wall furthest away, and the kid scoffed.

"Nah, no one can build an airplane out of paper that can go that far. Mine could probably go about halfway, though," the kid bragged, his classmates split between egging him on and heckling him.

"Halfway, Fitz. Can you believe that?" Mack asked, shrugging theatrically at his boss.

"That's quite a long way. Halfway's not bad." Fitz selected his best design from the table in front of him, a deceptively simple-looking plane with a snub nose and upturned wings. He mimed throwing it a few times, as though he was winding up and getting ready to let it go. "I don't know. What do the rest of you think? Think I can hit the wall?"

A chorus of laughs, along with voices shouting "no way!" and "nuh-uh!" rose up, and Fitz waited for the noise to get really loud before he released the plane on the next forward movement of his arm.

It climbed a little, bouncing lightly on the air twice before it continued, straight and smooth, on a path across the room. It was still waist-height when it hit the wall, a flight that earned Fitz a round of astonished applause from the kids.

"All right," Fitz asked, his eyebrow raised as he held up the reams of paper he'd brought with him. "If anyone can build a plane, entirely out of a single sheet of the paper we're providing you, that can be launched from this line on the floor and hit that wall—I'll donate two of our remote-control drones to your school. So...who wants to try designing their own?"

Between Fitz, Mack, and the three teachers, they managed to get the kids calmed down enough to watch the design video before tearing into the paper to construct their planes. Fitz noticed a couple of the kids sprinkled throughout the group were engrossed in the advice from the video, including a very serious-looking girl sitting in the front row.

He wasn't surprised in the least when, about an hour later and after she'd tried four design iterations, the girl he'd picked out of the crowd was the one who won the drones for her school.

"Hey," Fitz asked, leaning down to her as her classmates cheered and she blushed furiously, "if you aren't in the robotics club already, you should join it."

She looked up at him, cocking her head to the side and looking confused. "What does a paper airplane have to do with robotics?"

"More than you'd think, but that's not why I made my suggestion. If you can watch the video and then create this," he said, holding up her plane, "in under an hour and just a few tries, you've got the mind for it." He looked at her design again, which incorporated a few pieces of advice he'd offered the group, as well as several elements he was surprised worked so well together. "Because this..." he said, grinning as he took in her expression of semi-embarrassed pride, "...this is work of art."

After Mack snapped a quick picture of them, the girl ran back to her classmates while Fitz found himself hanging back from the group. He watched them all moving on to the new activity, engaged and excited. They were doing such good work in the community. Surely there was a way to pull out of their economic tailspin and still allow Fitz to run the place the way he wanted to.

He had to save this company.

As he walked back to his office to read over the materials from the Orion Foundation again, he tried to ignore the voice of doubt in the back of his mind. It took more effort than it should have. Coulson was the only person Fitz had completely confided in, confessing that his vision for TRC was as much his father's dream as his own. Maybe more his father's, Fitz had to admit, if he was really being honest with himself. Coulson would never have mentioned it if he hadn't been desperate.

Coulson was rarely wrong about the business, possessing something just short of a sixth sense for when they would and wouldn't win a bid. But Fitz couldn't think about that now. Not when he had a grant to win.

* * *

"Jemma!" May called out, stopping her on the way back to her office.

Jemma followed May's voice, assuming she needed some input for the grant application, but was surprised when May gestured for her to shut the door behind her.

"Is there something wrong?" Jemma asked, sitting carefully on the edge of May's guest chair. May was notoriously difficult to read, but she certainly seemed troubled.

"It's a personal matter. Something I was hoping you could help with." May took a breath, opening her mouth to continue, but then stopped, looking at her folded hands for a moment. "I know you're busy with everything happening here, but I have a problem and I don't think there's anyone else I can go to."

"Of course," Jemma breathed, thinking of the dozens of times May's quiet strength had helped her through a problem or a seemingly insurmountable obstacle. "Anything you need."

"It's Joey," May began. "His grandparents are sending him to me for a week while he's on a break from school."

"What year is he in, again?"

"Junior, this year." May chuckled when Jemma shook her head in disbelief. "I know. _Believe me,_ I know."

"It feels like I just babysat him last week. Has it really been that long?" May nodded, and Jemma could see a look of worry in her eyes, hiding behind the fond smile. "How is he doing?"

"Struggling a little. He's worried over college applications, but his grandparents couldn't get him to tell them why."

"They're hoping he'll confide in you." Jemma finally understood why May looked so upset. 

After working with her for so many years, Jemma knew May had a soft heart, though she kept it well-hidden...protected. Jemma hadn't known her before her husband had been killed on a mission for the secretive organization he, May, and Coulson had worked for, but his death had clearly changed so much for all three of them. Though May had tried to be a good stepmother, they'd always had trouble opening up to each other. 

"He trusts you more than you think he does, May." Jemma watched her nod, but it was obvious how sceptical she was. When Joey had asked to live with his grandparents instead of her a few years after his father's murder, she'd lost all confidence in herself and her relationship with her stepson. "Melinda," Jemma chanced, reaching out to cover May's restless, wringing hands with hers.

"I did manage to get a little of it out of him...last week, on the phone," May said, looking a little more hopeful. "He wants to go to college. His grades are good—great, really. What he's done...he's come so far." May glanced up, looking a little broken. "I never could seem to say the right thing, do the right thing for him...after...his father..."

Jemma thought back, remembering how May had always seemed worried she couldn't give Joey what he needed. It had been difficult to watch. Two people, broken-hearted over the same loss, but it was too painful for them to connect.

"We didn't know each other very well yet, and I was too young and distracted with my own plans to really understand, but anyone can see you care about him as though he was your own son." 

"I appreciate that, Jemma. He always saw you as a big sister, and I always appreciated that, too. You were someone he could talk to, when he didn't feel he could come to me." May cleared her throat, looking upward and blinking until the tears threatening at the corners of her eyes began to disappear. "That's why I was hoping you could help. He looks up to you—loves you, his 'Aunt J'. Maybe you could get him to open up, talk about what interests him? Help him find a direction?"

"Of course. Of course! Tell me where and when. I'll clear my schedule."

May's shoulders slumped a little with relief. "Thank you, Jemma. I won't forget this."

* * *

Fitz let the apartment door close behind him, leaning back against it as the air whooshed out of his lungs. He wished the tension of the day could have gone with it, that he could take off the cloud hanging over him along with his jacket and just leave it there for the night. Running TRC was difficult, and he'd be more than willing to shoulder the burden again the next morning—he just wanted to leave it behind, just for a bit.

"Oh, hey! You're home, great. Look, I overclocked the video card on my desktop, but my game keeps blue screening. Hardware isn't really my forte, so I was hoping you'd help me fix it. It's really a buzzkill when you crash during a great kill streak, and—wait. You look like shit." Daisy slid her hand between Fitz's back and the door and pushed, and when he let her move him, she took him by the shoulders and frog-marched him to the couch.

"I'm fine," he protested. "Just didn't have the best day, that's all."

Daisy plopped down on the coffee table, leaning toward him with her elbows on her knees. "Tell Auntie Daisy all about it, okay?"

Fitz groaned and scrubbed his hands down his face, slumping backward into the couch. "I'm older than you are, Daisy," he reminded her.

"I'm an aunt in a spiritual way. In an _advice-giving_ way."

"It's nothing." He sat up again at the exasperated, disbelieving noise Daisy made. "Okay, it isn't nothing. I'm just feeling weary. Got some news I didn't really want to hear earlier."

"Coulson?" Daisy guessed, clicking her tongue when Fitz gave a small nod. "Man, he's a good guy, but he sure does know how to bring a room down."

"It's not Coulson's fault. He's doing exactly what I asked him to do when I started TRC. I like that he disagrees with me and isn't afraid to say so. It's important."

"I guess so," Daisy said, but she didn't seem convinced. "So, what was it this time?"

"There's this Orion Foundation grant money I've been counting on to help me keep TRC afloat...especially after we lost those last two contract bids. Coulson got word from his contact at Simmtech earlier today that they're also pursuing it."

"So? Beat them! All the amazing stuff you guys do, I can't believe people aren't lining up to throw money at you."

"Simmtech puts together a pretty convincing application, from what I've heard. Coulson was pretty clear. He thinks they'll get it."

"Then you have to play dirty. Let's find a way to make them look bad."

Fitz stood up, running his hand through his hair. He knew that look in Daisy's eye, and she was about to turn him and his company into one of her projects.

"Absolutely not. I don't do things that way."

"It's the way the world works, Fitz." 

Fitz turned his back to her, kneeling next to her desktop computer to troubleshoot her criminally overclocked GPU and hoped he'd distract her. Perhaps she'd drop her plans to help in favor of getting a few more frames per second out of her outdated hardware.

"What if they do win the grant?"

He froze, carefully putting her case screws down where he wouldn't lose track of them. "Things would have to radically change. And if I wasn't willing to do that..." He couldn't look at her, and he couldn't say it out loud.

"You'd have to close."

He nodded, his throat suddenly feeling thick and dry.

"And all those people you employ...they'd be out of a job?"

"Yeah," he admitted, knowing where Daisy was headed with this argument.

"Let me help you. If you let me do what I do—"

"Illegally hack into computer systems you probably shouldn't even know exist?"

"Energize my group of like-minded activists, who care about economic reform and social justice? Who fight against corporate greed?" Daisy took him by the arm, spinning him around. "I won't lie. I won't make anything up. But if I can find something true that's worth protesting them over...you'll let me set it up?"

"I don't know, Daisy. I just don't think—"

"This is why the little guy can't win against the Man. Simmtech's stolen _how_ many employees from you? They've beaten you for _how_ many contracts? If they saw a way to get an advantage over you, do you think they'd be wringing their hands about whether it was right to use it?"

"Daisy..." he said, a warning tone in his voice, but honestly, she was beginning to win him over. He really didn't want to give up and watch TRC dwindle away to nothing.

"Just let me look into it. If I don't find anything, then you won't have to think about it anymore." She shrugged. "But if I do, maybe it's enough to get you the grant...pull you out of this tailspin."

"Yeah, okay," he said, and nearly regretted it when the crazy grin spread across Daisy's face. "Listen, don't do anything extreme, all right?"

"Of course not, Fitz. Moderation. It's my middle name. Daisy 'Moderation' Johnson."

He sighed, gesturing at her torn-apart computer. "I'll be happy to help you with this monstrosity later tonight. I just need a little time to rest first. Haven't been sleeping that well."

"Go take a nap!" she said, pulling him up and shoving him toward his bedroom. "I'll order in something for dinner and we can go over anything I find on Simmtech together, after you're awake again. Go and relax!"

He slumped his way into his room, unable to shake the feeling he'd just made a terrible error. Toeing off his shoes, he stripped down to his boxers before flopping into bed, then decided to look at the one thing that might lift his spirits.

He loaded up Exiken, waiting for the main screen to load, his eyes trained on the place where his message icon would be lit up if stargazer had written anything to him since the last time he checked. 

His mood buoyed up a bit when the icon was lit with a red "1", and he tapped it to see what she'd said. Scanning the message, he smiled wryly as she praised his sketch, then speculated about his drawing skill. Was it a hobby, or was it a skill he used as part of his job? She'd debated with herself in the message, different pieces of evidence put forth and dissected, analyzed with a detailed—scientific, really—methodology. 

He didn't often doubt his own intellect, but the more they traded messages, the more he worried the first thing she might notice about him was that he couldn't match the sharpness of her mind. It should have been daunting, how she not only challenged him, but bested him more often than not. If they ever met, he'd have real reason to worry that he wouldn't be able to keep up with her.

Letting his head fall back into the pillow, he thought about it for a moment. He _should_ be worried. But instead...he thought he might quite enjoy trying to prove himself. He just wasn't sure he was up to the challenge. For this, or for anything else.

` To: stargazer@founders-faction`  
`From: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`

`If I didn't know better--if we hadn't agreed not to share any specifics with each other--it would sound as though you were fishing for information.`

`Sometimes I think I should just tell you who I am, but then I'd have to understand who I am. I'm not sure I do. I had a moment today when I was sure I was on the right track, but then another, when it seemed clear that this thing I'm trying to do...it's doomed to failure.`

`I'm sorry. I'm just feeling...so small. I don't think I can explain it without saying too much.`

`And here I am, sending doom and gloom to you when your messages are anything but. They're...ugh, I'm going to sound like a lunatic, aren't I? They're the best part of my day, honestly. So don't respond to this one. Maybe I just needed somewhere to confess, to send this and know someone would see it.`

* * *

Bright and early on Saturday morning, Jemma walked up the steps leading to May's stylish brownstone building. Quickly tapping the call button for May's loft, she didn't have to wait long before she heard the buzz that would let her through the security door.

Joey was quieter, older, and—most disorientingly—much taller than the last time she'd seen him. She'd often written short notes for May to pass on to him after he'd gone to live with his grandparents, and May had always made sure to share his responses with her. Jemma had been under the impression she'd kept up with him rather well, but now he was standing in front of her, she wasn't so sure. That adorable little boy who'd loved to play Crazy Eights and scrawl out endless pictures with his crayons was in there somewhere, but he'd changed so much she wondered if she'd be any help to him at all.

"Aunt J!" Joey's quiet exclamation was accompanied by careful, yet earnest smile, and suddenly Jemma could see a little of the boy she'd known inside the young man in front of her. "It's nice to see you."

"After I heard you were visiting during the week I'd asked Melinda to put together a grant proposal for me, she accused me of timing it so I'd be able to steal you away." He stepped forward and they both paused for a moment, then came together for a tight, but brief hug. "I hope you don't mind me doing just that." She stepped back, marveling again at how much time had passed. "Although, I don't think my old standby of offering to sneak you some chocolate milk will be enough to win you over anymore."

Joey laughed quietly for a moment, and Jemma could see the worried look in May's eyes easing a bit. "I thought that was supposed to be our secret?"

"Well, I think perhaps we could do the more grown-up version of that. There's a cafe I love just around the corner, and they make wonderful hot chocolate. Or coffee, if you'd prefer."

They left May behind, supposedly so she could spend the day on the grant application. Judging by the look on her face when they left, Jemma doubted May would be able to write a single word. She was so worried for Joey, it just made Jemma more determined to do anything she could for both of them.

* * *

Over steaming mugs of hot chocolate, Joey stammered his way through the first few minutes of their conversation, but just as Jemma began to fear she simply wasn't the right person to get him to open up, he offered her the first window to something other than polite small talk.

"She's really upset, isn't she?" Joey asked. "My stepmom, I mean."

"No!" Jemma denied it too quickly, before she'd even thought it through, earning her a wave of skepticism from the other side of the table. "Upset is probably the wrong word. She's concerned," Jemma ventured, and she saw Joey thinking it over. "Worried...mostly that she isn't sure how to advise you."

"I'm not sure either," he admitted, a breath whooshing out of him as he tilted his head back, examining the ceiling. "Not that I don't think she can help, it's that I don't even know what I need help _with_."

"You could apply to college and declare a major after taking some classes." Jemma realized, as his expression began to close off, that she must not be the first person to offer that particular advice. "Or take a year off. Go to college after you've had some time away from school, if the pressure itself is what's blocking you."

Joey boggled at her. "Who are you, and what have you done with my Aunt J? I can't believe you're suggesting I blow off college."

She laughed and he joined her, and she felt the last remnants of the ice between them start to break. The words rushed out of him after that, talking about his classes and the clubs he was in, the things that interested him and the things that didn't. At one point, she took out her tablet and began to make a list, urging him to slide his chair next to hers as they talked.

"I feel like I'm going to let her down." Joey said, his voice breaking a bit, after there was a lull in the conversation and he'd been staring at her tablet for a few silent moments. "And...my dad. Let him down, too. What he wanted for me, before he was killed."

"Wait. I need you to look at me. I never met your father...you know that. But I've known your stepmother for years, and there's no one who's given me as much unconditional support as she has. More than that, I know how she feels about you. She'd never be disappointed in you. She might wonder if she'd failed you, if she saw you were struggling, but she'd never stop trying to find a way to support you." Jemma watched him, realizing this went deeper than his college applications. "She loves you, you know."

He nodded. "I do. I just don't know...if she knew everything, I don't know if she'd feel the same way. It isn't just this college stuff that's..." He sighed, his brow furrowing. "Everything's changing so much. I don't know. I guess it's all hitting me at once. There's this other thing, a big thing, and I'm not sure how to...deal with talking about it."

"Whatever's bothering you," she ventured, "you can go to her with it." Jemma leaned down, trying to catch his eye. "And me too, for what it's worth."

"I'm not..." he began, then paused before he seemed to make up his mind. "I'm not straight. I like...guys."

She ran her hand along his shoulder, relieved that he was able to trust her. "About six months ago, your stepmother and I went to the wedding of two of our lab techs. Two of our _male_ lab techs. I caught her wiping away a tear in the middle of the ceremony, and you know how she feels about public displays of emotion."

"It might be different when it's someone—"

"It wouldn't be. I understand why it's hard to tell her, I do." She paused for a moment, realizing exactly how difficult it must have been for him to confide in her, and she squeezed his shoulder a little. "To tell anyone, really. I can't tell you how glad I am that you could trust me with this. Your stepmother...you can trust her, too. She wants you to be happy and fulfilled. Not her way...yours."

"Is that why she's set the world's most voracious advocate for higher learning on me as soon as I couldn't tell her where I was applying or what I was going to major in?"

Jemma smirked. "Well, it's important you investigate all the options. You didn't seem unhappy with the idea of college, when we talking about it earlier," she offered, wondering if she'd moved on from the other topic too quickly, if he'd think she was too uncomfortable to discuss it. "I'm not changing the subject because—"

"—I know," he said, smiling softly at her. "It's nice...that it wasn't an issue for you."

"It's not." Clearing her throat, she decided to carry on. "What _is_ an issue, is this impression of yours that you've got to figure everything out now."

"What if I go to a school with a great psychology program, and then decide I want to be...I don't know...an accountant?"

"You change departments." Joey was about to cut her off, so she spoke louder. "And if that department isn't up to snuff, you transfer. Perhaps you lose a year." She raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you end up with a second doctorate after you change your mind."

"That's not how you ended up with two doctorates...is it?"

"No," she admitted. "I earned them concurrently. But I began the chemistry program in earnest several months after I'd committed to the biology program." He sighed, shaking his head at her as he rolled his eyes in a way only a seventeen year old could truly pull off. "I'm a poor example. I've known what I wanted to do since I was five."

"I wanted to be a cat when I was five." They both laughed at that, and she wondered again when he'd grown up without her taking notice.

"We need to let you test drive a few things, try aspects of some of these careers you don't see when you're in school." She looked at her watch, frowning when she realized no one would be working in the labs at Simmtech this weekend with construction wrapping up in the new space, and then she remembered something she'd read a few nights ago while she was checking out the competition.

"What? You have that 'I have an idea' face."

"There's a thinktank, a competitor...they run these weekend fairs from time to time. There's one today, in fact. It's a lot of engineering, but you didn't seem averse to the idea when we were discussing your interests. I'll need to stay incognito so they won't think I'm spying, but perhaps something there will give you an idea."

Joey shrugged, then nodded, tipping back the rest of his hot chocolate as he stood up. "Lead the way."


	4. Chapter 4

Jemma led Joey slowly through the Saturday crowd on the sidewalks leading to TRC, talking a bit more about what sort of surroundings he could see himself in. A private college perhaps, in an insular, small town? Or did he need the constant movement and cacophony of a huge university in a big city, with lots of things to do and see? Jemma could see the wheels turning as he tried to imagine himself in different situations, and she began to think they might make some progress this afternoon.

By the time they approached TRC, she was amazed at the sheer number of people milling around. Everyone was moving in different directions while people in bright-colored company t-shirts acted almost as carnival barkers, drawing people out of the crowd and into their activities. A short, energetic man with a crew cut was barrelling around, directing kids over to his camera and printer set-up, offering to make "official TRC junior scientist lanyards" for them.

Jemma craned her neck, taking it all in, and wondered how they could possibly put on a huge event like this and not have some sort of cover charge to help defray costs. And they did it every other month, she recalled, thinking back to the last time she'd checked in on their website. She examined the tables more carefully, looking for an indication they'd brought in some sort of corporate sponsorship or funding from an endowment or grant, but there was nothing.

"Hey, you!" Joey and Jemma whirled around to find a young woman with dark, shoulder-length wavy hair, crooking her finger at Joey to draw him to her table. "You look like the kind of guy who could use some lockpicking skills," she added, a mischievous look in her eyes. "For legal reasons, of course," she added, after Jemma's shocked intake of breath. "The next time one of your goofball teachers locks everyone out of the classroom at your school, you'll be able to save the day."

Joey turned to Jemma, a quizzical look on his face, and she nodded in response. "Go ahead, perhaps you'll find it intriguing."

She wasn't about to dismiss anything out of turn. By the end of the day, she was determined to spark Joey's interest in something, or at least be able to cross a few areas of study off the list.

As he leaned over the table, the woman guided his hands, showing him how to position the intricate-looking tools inside the practice locks she had strewn in front of her. Jemma had to remind herself he wasn't ten years old anymore. He could surely find her in the crowd if she wandered away just a bit, and Jemma took another look around. 

They'd gravitated, thankfully, into the section of the fair that catered to teenagers and adults, rather than younger children. She'd wondered, as they walked here, if there would be anything of interest to anyone over the age of ten, but she'd been silly to be concerned. There were people of all ages roving between the exhibits, fully-grown adults learning how to pilot quadcopter drones next to teens programming robots made from LEGO. She couldn't believe the variety of activities presented, and worse, she felt a guilty pang in her chest when she remembered that Simmtech had turned down countless invitations to participate before TRC had stopped attempting to involve them.

"All right, you can't stand there any longer without choosing between the past and the future." The voice, laced with a distinctive Scottish accent, was clearly directed at her. By the time she broke away from her thoughts, two very different men in matching TRC t-shirts were good-naturedly arguing with each other from behind their side-by-side tables.

"I'm sorry?" Jemma asked, looking between them and feeling a bit at a loss.

"No, _I'm_ sorry," offered the tall, muscular man behind the "Learn to Solder" table on her left. "My friend Fitz, here, is using your presence to take yet another shot at mechanical engineering."

Jemma's eyebrows shot up when she realized who was in front of her. The 'Learn to Solder' man had called him 'Fitz'. This _had_ to be Leo Fitz, the founder of TRC—her chief rival, someone she'd managed never to meet in the handful of years their companies had both been operating in the city. All this time without coming face-to-face with him, and here he was in front of her, making off-handed jokes with one of his colleagues.

"As I keep telling you, Mack," Fitz said, rolling his eyes theatrically. "There's nothing _wrong_ with mechanical engineering. It's just not as...well, how to put this...as interesting or cool as electronics engineering, or aeronautics, for that matter."

"What a coincidence! Those just happen to be your areas of specialty," Mack said, laughing, then turned his attention back to Jemma. "You look like a woman who's been dying to learn how to solder. Old school electronics." He was working with the soldering iron as he spoke, creating a perfect, glistening line, and he took a deep sniff, his shoulders raising toward the ceiling. "I do love the smell of flux and copper in the morning."

Fitz was saying _something_ , but she nodded, smiling at him, to cover that she couldn't quite concentrate. His credentials appeared in her mind, easy to remember, as there were many superficial similarities to her own. He was one doctorate short of her mark, but they'd both had an accelerated pre-college education, they'd each come from the UK to the United States for college and post-grad, and they'd started their own companies just two years apart. She wondered if he'd started TRC because he was just as disillusioned as she'd been, both in the jobs she'd taken and the attempts by organizations of questionable morality to recruit her that she'd turned down.

"So, what do you say? Past?" Fitz shrugged, with a grimace, in the general direction of the soldering going on next to him. "Or future?" His hands—he had quite nice hands, actually—gesturing gracefully over the components on his own table.

A young boy with coke-bottle glasses approached Mack's table, his curiosity at the transformation of the copper filament written plainly on his face.

"It looks as though you've got another customer...Mack, was it?" Jemma asked, and Mack turned his attention to the boy, helping him put on the safety equipment before his interest waned.

"I suppose you're stuck with me," Fitz said. While she wasn't sure it was a good idea to meet, at long last, her biggest competitor while she was incognito, she couldn't quite make herself walk away.

She stepped forward and looked down, surprised not to recognize anything in front of her. She had an idea what the function of some of the components were, of course, but the design wasn't familiar to her at all. To understand the marketplace more completely, she liked to keep up with what companies in all branches of the sciences were producing, but she'd never seen any of this before.

"On the contrary, you're stuck with me." Jemma nodded toward what looked like an on/off switch, which he immediately picked up and handed to her. She turned it over and over in her hands, amazed at the streamlined design of the connectors.

"Are you familiar at all with electronics?" He suddenly sounded less sure of himself, now that it was just the two of them. He stammered a little between words, staring at her for a moment before he looked down abruptly, his fingers deftly putting together a half-dozen components to make a classic circuit with a switch, which powered a tiny fan, the size of her palm.

"It isn't what I majored in," she said, settling on an answer that wasn't technically a lie, but also didn't betray any of the truth. 

"Well," he said, his tone taking on a stilted air she found somewhat confusing, "this system makes visualizing electronics concepts a breeze." He tilted the fan toward her face, and she blinked a bit against the brush of air against her cheeks. "You might even say...it'll blow you away."

She blinked again, this time with momentary confusion at this sudden shift in his demeanor, and then she started to giggle. He looked a bit embarrassed, and she reached out to cover his hand (and the air blowing into her face, coincidentally) in wordless apology for laughing at him.

"It's..." he began, rolling his eyes at himself. "Sorry, I'm a bit rubbish at this sometimes. The crowds, the noise, I find it difficult to concentrate. Those jokes, they were suggested by my CFO when he found me in my office trying to come up with a loose script for this exhibit. I made the mistake of telling him how awkward I find giving these sessions and he...well. Perhaps you can tell me what sorts of things you're curious about, why you've come, and I can get you a demo from someone who's—"

"—No." The word came quickly, and against all common sense. He'd given her the perfect out, and she really shouldn't spend any more time with Leo Fitz than she already had. If he found out who she was, he'd probably have her escorted off the premises. Yet, despite all the reasons she should duck away from him as quickly as possible, she found she really didn't want to.

"Sorry?"

"It's just...well, I thought I'd made clear you were stuck with me. I'd love to hear more about these components." He looked surprised, but not unpleasantly so. "If you wouldn't mind?"

He showed her a few different parts, explained the ways they would fit together, how the colors and shapes built into the design itself helped illustrate how they should be combined to make working circuits. It was ingenious, really, one of the best teaching tools she'd seen for any scientific discipline.

"What's this set called? If I wanted to purchase one? My..." She hesitated, not knowing what to call Joey, especially in front of the one person who needed to be kept in the dark about her identity. "Well, I've brought the stepson of a close friend of mine here today. He's a junior in high school and he's trying to figure out what he'd like to do for the rest of his life. We came here, hoping he'd bump into something intriguing enough to start him thinking about a college major." 

"Oh! I hope we can help him. I'd offer some advice, but I've known what I wanted to do since before I could walk." Fitz shrugged, handing her another component, which she took while she tried to keep her mouth from falling open in mild shock. What he'd said...it was so similar to what she'd said to Joey earlier that she almost felt he could read her mind.

"Be a CEO?" she ventured, then immediately began to explain herself, worried that he'd somehow figure out she knew more about him than she'd admitted. "Before, you said 'my CFO'. It sounded like something the CEO would say. Am I right?"

"You're quite observant." His cheeks colored a bit, then he held his hand out to her. "Leo Fitz. I own this place, such as it is."

"It's...quite remarkable." She wasn't lying, though she was having trouble reconciling this new impression of TRC with her earlier opinions about their business practices. For a thinktank this size, and with as many promising young employees as they had, they produced far too little. Their articles in scientific publications and bids for prestigious contracts should be much more numerous, to say nothing of the tiny dribble of licenses they granted to other companies to use the tech they produced.

Looking down at the components in her hands, she had a sudden hunch. Biting her lip for a moment to craft the perfect line to get her the information she wanted, she stalled further by feigning difficulty with getting two of the pieces to connect.

"Ah, these pieces have radial-motion connectors, instead of sliding together with a pushing motion," he explained. "Remember, all the red connectors are radial. 'R' is for red, is for radial."

The pieces fell out of her hands, and he picked them up for her, helping twist them together to complete a new circuit. She used similar mnemonics in her own lab space, little reminders to keep everyone organized and using the proper equipment for specific purposes. A wave of paranoia washed over her, and she wondered if he knew who she was, knew her lab practices somehow, and was subtly trying to let her know her attempt to come here incognito had failed.

"What did you say this set was called again?" she choked out, watching him carefully for any hint that his pleasant exterior was hiding anything.

"It's—it's not called anything, really. It's a system I developed here. We don't mass-produce it, it's just used at these fairs and similar events."

"This could help so many people," she told him, running her fingers over the carefully-designed parts. "Schools, for instance. Even students at the primary school level could learn basic concepts from such a clear system."

"Do you work in education?" His head was cocked to the side, his expression awash in curiosity.

"No." She denied him too quickly, her tone too abrupt. He looked puzzled, and worse, she'd given herself no time to think of an answer that wouldn't require her to lie or give more details than she should. 

"Aunt J!" Joey's voice came from behind her, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Sorry I was gone so long, that lockpicking stuff was pretty interesting, actually."

"Ah, that's my friend, Daisy. She's quite a compelling presenter." Fitz looked between Jemma and Joey, then awkwardly stuck his hand out again. "You must be Joey?"

"Yeah. Hey, she gave me this card with the URL for her blog, but I didn't really understand what it was all about. Is she—"

Fitz's groan cut him off, and he flagged down the man who'd been passing out lanyards earlier. "Koenig! Hey, could you talk to Daisy for me, ask her not to give out those cards? At least, not unless someone asks her about what she covers on her blog?"

"On it, boss," Koenig said, giving him a strange little salute and then rushing off in the direction of the lockpicking activity.

"Sorry about that. I mean, visit her blog if you'd like to. She does good work, fights for the little guy, that sort of thing. This is the wrong time, though, to be drumming up page views or warm bodies for her next protest rally." 

Fitz went on to explain the circuit-building system to Joey, who listened with growing interest as Fitz gave him more details.

Jemma was surprised at how disappointed she was, ceding Fitz's attention to Joey, when she should have been relieved for the excuse to drift more into the background. For his part, Fitz seemed to check in with her from time to time, the look in his eyes asking her if she thought he might be helping. She noticed Fitz was sprinkling in other questions as they talked, leading questions that were clearly meant to assess other projects he could direct them to, other avenues for Joey to explore while they were there.

When, ten minutes later, Fitz motioned to another employee in a bright blue TRC t-shirt to take over his exhibit, Jemma found she didn't mind him offering to show Joey around the rest of the fair—even if their sudden tour guide was the one person she should have avoided like the plague.

* * *

Fitz wasn't quite sure what he was doing, as he stole a look over the young man he'd offered to show around the exhibits. His aunt—though, Fitz was fairly certain she'd said she wasn't _really_ his aunt—seemed happy enough to stand back a bit. She asked Joey the occasional leading question, but she also let him make up his own mind about what he found interesting enough to try.

"Do you go to a school in the city?" Fitz asked, feeling stuck for small talk and reverting back to the sorts of eye-rolling topics adults used to bring up with him when he was younger. Thankfully, Joey didn't seem the have the same temper Fitz had often indulged in at Joey's age.

"I live with my grandparents, in Maryland. Aunt J's entertaining me for the afternoon, to get me out of my stepmom's hair."

"Not at all!" his 'aunt' said, tutting at him as she lightly hit him on the shoulder. "I haven't seen him in years," she explained, turning to Fitz. "I'd have been so upset if he'd spent a week here and I wasn't able to steal him for a few hours."

Fitz noticed Mack moving to the metalworking exhibit and he led his charges toward it, remembering how quickly Joey had picked up the light, yet firm touch necessary to do good soldering work when they'd visited Mack's last booth. After Joey settled in to try making a small, working windmill model out of copper, Fitz found himself standing next to a woman he'd been talking to for over an hour, yet he didn't even know her name.

"So, do you enjoy running TRC?" she asked, before he could rectify the name situation.

"Trying to decide if you should advocate for Joey to go to business school? Can't help you with that one, as I didn't. As my CFO could attest, whenever he's in the middle of being exasperated with me for my lack of business sense."

She coughed, holding her hand to her chest, with a shocked look in her eyes. Her breath must have caught in her throat, and he was about to pat her on the back to help her recover when he realized she might find him rather strange for doing so when they'd just met an hour or so before.

"Goodness, that was odd," she said, taking a few deep breaths. "I seem to be fine now, thankfully." She was suddenly refusing to look at him, watching Joey or looking at the floor instead. "I'm sure you're just fine—as a CEO, I mean."

"Oh, don't misunderstand me. I'm happy with the way we do things around here. We could make more money, license everything we come up with here to the highest bidder, but I just don't believe it's ethical. The big labs—places like Simmtech," he said, and he interrupted himself when she started coughing again. This time, he did get up the nerve to pat her on the back a few times, though he removed his hand as soon as she was able to choke out her gratitude for his help. 

"You were saying?" she asked, and it took him a moment to remember he'd been in the middle of a sentence just a moment ago.

"Where was I?"

"'Places like Simmtech'," she echoed, the scratch in her throat returning.

"Do you need some water?" he asked, looking around for someone he could flag down to run into the staff break room and get her something to help. She shook her head, a tight smile on her face, and he wondered if he should continue.

"Go ahead," she prompted. "I was quite interested in what you had to say." 

He decided to quickly finish the thought and move on. "It's just—places like Simmtech. I have to wonder how much vetting of their business partners they can possibly do. If you'd seen some of the requests we've gotten here, or the people who tried to recruit me before I started this place...it couldn't be a simple matter to ensure nothing makes it into the hands of people who won't be responsible with it."

"Do you have some sort of evidence that they've done work you'd consider unethical, or partnered with any shady organizations?" Her face was almost blank, save for her eyes boring into him as she waited for his answer.

"No," he admitted. "I have my doubts about how much they could know about where their work ends up after they sell it off, but nothing concrete. They have nicked more than a few of my employees, though. Can't say I'm a big fan of that."

"You don't have anyone on staff here who worked for them first?"

"Actually..." he began, taking stock of his current roster of employees. "Well, there's a few. I suppose I can't charge them with that, if I'm guilty as well. Even if the scales are heavily weighed in their favor where stolen employees are concerned."

"Surely employees intelligent enough to work for such prestigious organizations possess the ability to decide these things for their own reasons?" He wished they'd never started on this particular discussion, as he couldn't imagine anyone outside the years-long battle between the two companies could truly understand. He was sure he sounded juvenile and mean-spirited.

"Of course. I'm sure everyone ends up exactly where they're meant to be."

Silence descended between them again, and he knew he'd soon have to decide between making an excuse for his retreat or thinking of something else to talk about. He found he didn't really want to leave quite yet. As odd as their conversation had been so far, it had also been the most intriguing part of his day.

"I've just realized," he ventured, shaking off the odd nervousness he felt at asking her such a mundane question, "I never got your name." When she didn't answer right away, her eyes widening as the seconds ticked away, he babbled on in a desperate bid to fill the silence. "It hardly seems right for me to also call you Aunt J. You don't seem old enough to have a real nephew in high school, though I suppose it's technically possible...not that I'm speculating about your age."

Just as he was wishing he could melt into the cracks in the concrete flooring and disappear, her lips widened into a rather dazzling smile.

"You can call me J. My friends..." she trailed off, looking down for a moment before she met his eyes again, "...they sometimes call me J. Not really fond of my first name."

"Oh! Now _that_ , I understand. I absolutely loathe hearing anyone call me 'Leo', or worse, 'Leopold'." He shuddered for comic effect, fighting to cover his extreme delight when she giggled again.

Before she could respond, Fitz found his arm being tugged on rather insistently, and he turned to find a panic-stricken Koenig trying to get his attention.

"Boss, sorry to interrupt you, but one of the drone control servers has gone offline. Daisy's looking at it along with one of our software engineers, but they both seem convinced there's a hardware component to the problem. They both think you're the only one who—"

"—Yeah," Fitz agreed, irrationally disappointed to be pulled away. "Sorry...er, J." He frowned, wondering if any of her friends also found it strange, addressing her with a letter of the alphabet, rather than a name. "Looks like I'm needed elsewhere."

"Oh, I'm sure we've already monopolized too much of your time." She glanced at Joey, who was still engrossed with the metalworking tools. "I can't thank you enough for the guidance, but I think we can take it from here."

He said goodbye and then turned, trying to keep himself from looking back over his shoulder. He'd always been a curious person, he rationalized, and that's why it seemed like it would be hard to put Joey and his aunt out of his mind. There certainly shouldn't be any other reason. Not one he could do anything about, anyway.

* * *

After Fitz was called away, she was flustered, barely able to focus on what was going on around them. Her mind was awash in thoughts—how strange it was that they hadn't met before now, how he wasn't at all what she would have expected, and how she couldn't imagine the strangeness that would ensue if he ever realized he'd been escorting a rival around a place he obviously considered the most important thing in his life.

"Did the boss give you a good tour?"

Jemma looked up, focusing on the man's face as she tried to think of an answer.

"It's 'Mack', am I right?" she asked, trying to stall. He merely nodded, leaving the conversational ball in her court. "He was very generous with his time. Is he usually so..." she paused, unable to find the right word.

"Yes and no, I guess. He likes to grump around here a lot, complaining he's bad at giving presentations and working with people, but then, the minute you drop him into the situation, he's great." Mack shrugged. "Or, I think he is, I guess."

"No! He is...was...great. With Joey, I mean." The room felt warmer, the air too heavy as she stammered. Despite the headway Joey was making toward sparking an interest for himself, she was starting to think this foray into enemy territory had been a terrible error. The next question fell from her before she could stop it. "If he's so uncomfortable, though, why would he push himself to...he has all these employees," she said, looking at all the matching, colorful t-shirts worn by the people running exhibits.

"A lot of them are volunteers," Mack told her. "But Fitz, well, this place is exactly what he's made it. I don't think he could sit back and let all this go on without him." He turned around, pointing to a photo in a frame on the wall behind him. Jemma had to squint to make it out, clearly an older picture, discolored with time.

"Is that Fitz?"

"And his dad. His father tried to start a place like this, back in Scotland. He dreamed of making it exactly like TRC, but he could never quite get it off the ground."

Mack handed the photo to her, and her eyes ran over it. It was a black and white shot, tinged with yellow, and there was an older man helping a young Fitz with a screwdriver. They were working on something in front of them, and the handle of the tool was nearly as big as Fitz's head, his tiny hands doubled up on it. His tongue was out in concentration, and his father was looking off to the side, smiling at his son.

"So Fitz came here, finished school, and then opened this place." Mack took the photo back, returning it to the wall carefully.

Her heart beat faster, recalling every time she'd stayed up late ensuring their grant applications or new business acquisition presentations were flawless. More often than not, TRC had been their only true competition. For the first time in her life, she wondered if winning those opportunities had been for the best.

When Joey finished the metalworking project, they said goodbye to Mack and moved on to other activities. She let the events of the day sweep her forward, redoubling her efforts to keep her promise to May, and they went through several more hands-on exhibits before deciding to head home.

Joey, seeming much more energized than he had that morning, asked for the tablet as they walked back to May's apartment. He went over the list they'd made again, peppering her with questions, which she tried her best to answer.

May greeted them with an anxious smile, suggesting they should perhaps take Jemma to dinner.

"Oh...yeah. Of course we should." Joey's expression tightened a little, and his hand ghosted over his pocket. "I just...I'll have to make a phone call first, if that's all right."

"Wait," May stopped him with her hand on his chest, and he let out a quiet sigh and turned back to her. "You had plans?"

"I have a few online friends who live in the city," he admitted. "We'd arranged a meetup." He looked between them, clearly torn. "But you're right. I know Aunt J is busy and she spent the whole day...I think dinner is the least I can do. Maybe I can reschedule it. It'll be fine."

"No," May said, looking to Jemma for help. "Jemma and I can go. You should—"

"—You should!" Jemma echoed. "We'll probably end up talking business all night and you'd be bored to tears. See your friends."

"If you're sure." Joey's hand moved away from his pocket. "You're sure it's all right?"

May nodded, patting him gently on the shoulder before she took a small step back.

"Thanks, Aunt J." His eyes dropped to the floor as he appeared to be thinking something over. "And thanks...mom." He waved to Jemma, then retreated into the hall leading to the guest room.

"He hasn't called me that since he was little, before his father..." May cleared her throat, putting her back to Jemma. She was speechless after that for a bit, simply nodding when Jemma suggested a restaurant. It wasn't until they were in the cab, speeding across town, before May seemed to recover. The questions came, rapid-fire, after that, about how they'd spent their day.

"He hasn't settled on anything in specific," Jemma told her, as they were led to their table at the restaurant, "but I believe he's made some progress. Perhaps he'll discuss it more with his friends this evening. He'll also want to talk to you."

"I don't know about that. It's why I asked you to spend some time with him, and why I'm glad he has friends here. Hopefully he can talk over the ideas you've given him today with them." May covered her face with the menu. "And I don't mind," came her voice, muffled through the barrier. "I'm grateful, actually, that he has people to talk to. People he admires, whose opinions matter to him."

"You're one of those people," Jemma said, putting a gentle hand over hers where it gripped the side of the menu, urging it down. "He'll want to talk to you. Just wait, you'll see."

May nodded quietly, and Jemma could tell she'd been pushed as much as she could take. She waited, giving her friend the opportunity to decide how to change the subject. She'd never been sure how to handle situations like this one, and she'd be lying if she didn't admit she felt a bit out of her depth.

"What did you do today? Did you take him to Simmtech?"

"I thought about it, but it's the weekend, and with the build-out, I didn't think anyone would be there. I took him...it's funny, actually." She hesitated. It had been such an odd afternoon, and she was torn between dodging May's question altogether or begging her for more information. "Well, not funny, exactly."

"Jemma..."

"There was a Maker's Faire. I read about it a few nights ago, and once Joey and I began talking over his interests, I felt we might find a lead or two for him there."

"That wouldn't be the Maker's Faire...at TRC? Would it?"

"No one knew who I was," Jemma said, deciding she should quickly allay any fears May might have that she'd been recognized in the lair of their enemy. "I even...well...I met Leo Fitz while I was there."

"After you've been so careful all these years to avoid him? I think I asked you for a bigger favor than I thought."

"He wasn't at all what I'd imagined." She pictured him, devoting so much of his attention to helping Joey when he'd surely had many other responsibilities, and then remembered the photo Mack had shown her. "Do you ever feel...guilty? For our success? So much of it has come at the expense of other companies."

"At the expense of TRC, you mean?"

"When you have those meetings with Coulson, what does he say about it?" At May's startled expression, Jemma remembered how close-mouthed May was about anything to do with Coulson, and her life before she'd come to Simmtech. She was likely asking a very personal question of a woman who simply didn't _do_ personal questions. "I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have—"

"—It's fine. I know you must be curious. You've probably wondered about the two of us and our meetings for quite some time." She gave Jemma that mysterious smile of hers, the one that spoke of the things May must have seen in her life, of how much of the world she'd seen. "We don't often deal with the rivalry between our two companies. We mainly talk about...the old days."

"Of course. I...I'm sorry to have assumed—"

May stopped her with her palm, held up gracefully between them. "We do, from time to time, however, discuss TRC and Simmtech. Coulson—Phil—understands that everything we've done has been above-board, and he knows it's just business. He's frustrated, actually, that Fitz won't agree to run things differently. Pursue more contracts, make more of their work public."

"It's something to do with his father, isn't it?"

May looked taken aback at that. "How much did you find out? Are you sure you didn't go there to spy on them?"

"The information..." Jemma paused, trying to think of the best way to put it. She remembered Mack giving her the photograph, telling her a bit of the story she truly wanted to hear the rest of. "...it was handed to me, I suppose."

"Fitz tends toward the altruistic, and he's extremely suspicious of anyone interested in licensing their tech. To the point, almost, of paranoia." When Jemma was about to interrupt, she held up her hand again, wordlessly asking her to wait. "He has good reason, though, given what happened to his father."

"What happened—"

"—I'll tell you," May said, stopping her again. "The only reason I will—let me be clear about this—is because you could find this information on your own if you did some digging, and I know you'll do just that if I don't tell you. This way, you'll get it with context. It's the _only_ reason I'm telling you."

Jemma nodded, waiting for May to continue.

"Fitz's father...he did some contract work just before Fitz was born. He was instrumental in the design and production of a ground-based drone that was meant to be used for search and rescue. It could go into spaces and environments where S&R squads can't go, or where their weight and movement might trigger a worsening of conditions."

Jemma thought for a moment. "Avalanches, or rock slides?"

May nodded. "Exactly that type of situation." Her face clouded over. "Once...our organization, the one Coulson and I used to work for...got their hands on the technology—"

"—Your scientists weaponized them," Jemma said, realizing the truth as May looked back at her solemnly. "That was the beginning of weaponized drones."

"Fitz's father...he refused to work with us after that. He worked himself to death trying to make amends for what he'd created. He spent most of Fitz's childhood trying to prove science could be kept pure, but he was too careful. The company went under. He died less than a year after that. Fitz couldn't have been more than...eight years old?"

"May..." Jemma breathed, her throat feeling tight.

"Coulson worked with Fitz's father, before he and I were put on a team together. I never met the man, but Coulson...he needs someone to vent to, at those lunches of ours. He sees Fitz doing the same things his father did, and he's afraid it'll end the same way. They can't keep on, the way things are."

"But they could!" Jemma protested, her mind racing. "It wouldn't take that much of a shift. If you'd seen everything they'd put together—"

"—I know that look in your eyes, Jemma. You're ten seconds away from telling me you want to pull out of the running for the Orion Foundation grant. You think if Simmtech takes a step back, TRC can prop itself up."

Jemma hated this feeling, the one she always got when May could see straight through her. She waited, knowing May was nowhere near finished.

"The problems with TRC, they can't be solved by one influx of funding. You wouldn't be doing the company or its employees any favors by ceding the grant to them. You'd be forestalling the inevitable. But put that aside. You have a duty to your own company...to Simmtech...and to the employees who depend on you to make it a success. Simmtech lives and dies with you, Jemma, like it or not. You can't start playing games with it now. If TRC beats us fairly, that's one thing. If they win only when you decide to sit out, you endanger both companies. Worse, everything Coulson is trying to do, every point he's tried to make to Fitz to encourage him to pursue new business, winning the grant would kill the progress he's made to _really_ save TRC."

"So...you're saying that fighting our hardest for the grant...that's the best way to help them?" Jemma huffed impatiently when May nodded again. "What about suggesting a joint project? Perhaps even applying to the Orion Foundation under a single proposal between the two companies?"

"We've poached almost two dozen of their employees, Jemma. I don't think, even with Phil on the inside advocating for the idea, Fitz would agree to a joint venture. Not even if it was between that or bankruptcy."

They spent the rest of the dinner in troubled silence or stilted small talk, though May did give her another heartfelt 'thank you' for what she'd done with Joey earlier that day as their shared cab dropped her off in front of her building.

Upstairs, she reread circuitbreaker's last message again, frowning at yet another thing she felt powerless to influence for the better. He'd written to her, clearly troubled at feeling small and inconsequential. Without knowing more about him, she hadn't known how to respond. She'd never been good at comforting anyone, much preferring to offer solutions and help people fix their problems rather than simply offering solace or consolation.

According to May, she couldn't do anything directly to help Fitz or TRC, but circuitbreaker was another matter. She thought of the advice she wished she was in a position to offer Fitz, and poured her thwarted instinct to help into her next message, instead.

`To: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`   
`From: stargazer@founders-faction`

`You sounded so despondent in your last message, and it's been days since you've captured an access point. I find myself wondering if you've given up the game. Perhaps you won't even see this message...but I hope that isn't true.`

`I can't tell you how saddened I would be if you disappeared from the game. You owe me nothing, of course, but I have to ask...if you decide to stop playing, please tell me before you go? I can't imagine how I'd feel, waiting to hear from you, only to gradually realize it won't happen.`

`So you see, while you may feel small, and while you may fear failure, you're important to me. As intelligent as I know you are, I can't imagine you could ever truly fail. Perhaps things around you will change, and you with them, but you'll survive. I don't even know what you do for a living... (Do you invent ice cream flavors? With your attention to detail and your obvious love of sweets, I'm sure you'd be quite skilled at that.)`

`As I'm sure you've guessed from my username, I'm enamoured with astronomy. (As a hobby, I should specify, so you're not cross with me for breaking our 'no identifying information' pact.) When I feel I might fail, I remember what happened to Pluto. I'm sure you've heard about it, at least a little, but just in case: For 76 years, we considered it a planet, then after relatively minimal debate, it was demoted to dwarf planet status.`

`From one point of view, everything has changed for Pluto. The way we view it has changed, its role in our model of the solar system undeniably different.`

`Yet, Pluto spins on. Nothing we do can change it, not at its heart. We discovered it, defined it, and re-defined it, and Pluto continues its inextricable path through the universe, unfazed by our debate.`

`Whatever your difficulty, circuitbreaker, stay true to yourself. Adjust to the changes around you if you must, but spin on. Spin on, as only you can.`

* * *

Fitz swiped his finger across his phone, fast-forwarding through the video he'd shot at the Maker's Faire earlier that day, before the problem with the drone control server had pulled him away.

There were so many people, all of them smiling, laughing, and engaged with activities that may well have been out of their comfort zone when they'd awoken earlier that day. He was so proud of his employees, the volunteers, and their partner organizations. He even thought...perhaps his father would have been proud as well, if he could have seen it.

He sent the video to Coulson, then followed up with a text asking him to watch it. Fitz knew it wasn't what he wanted to hear, but the success of the event had strengthened Fitz's resolve to run TRC the way he knew his dad would have wanted him to. It could be done. It _had to be_ done.

Getting out of bed, not feeling as tired as he had when he'd collapsed there a half hour ago, he made his way into the living room. Mack, who'd walked over with Fitz after the faire, had stayed to play some Call of Duty with Daisy after Fitz had felt drained once they'd walked through the door.

"Change your mind about joining the battle, huh, big guy?" Mack held out his controller. "Daisy keeps taking me out at the spawn point. Maybe you know some counter-strategy I don't?"

"I have to save TRC, Daisy. It has to..." he trailed off, looking off into the distance as he remembered. "It has to spin on." 

"That's what I've been _trying_ to tell you, Fitz!" Daisy said, giggling as she nuked Mack's character yet again, grotesque noises coming from the television.

"Did you find anything? On Simmtech?" Fitz waited with his hands on his hips as Daisy sobered, her eyes widening.

"Someone's ready to play dirty, huh?" Daisy paused the game, pulling her legs under her so she could sit up on her knees, her arms folded on the back of the couch as she leaned over toward Fitz. "Didn't find anything shady, per se." At Fitz's look of disappointment, she continued, "Doesn't mean I can't find something to write about, though. They're doing a big expansion, maybe I can talk to someone around the work site when they're on break. Until I turn up something, I'll write some generic articles. They're the _Man_ , Fitz, with their boot on the neck of the little guy. They steal your employees. They undercut you on contract bids. You invited them to participate in the Maker's Faires...how many times? And even though they make money hand over fist, they turned you down? That's at least three articles I can write before we have anything concrete."

"Hey, Turbo...are you sure about this?" Mack looked skeptical, craning his neck to watch as Daisy pulled out her laptop, her fingers soon poised over the keyboard.

"Do you think Simmtech would stop for a _second_ if they saw a way to get an advantage over Fitz and TRC?" Daisy peered over the edge of her computer, clearly waiting for Fitz to give her a signal to get started.

"Do I think they would make broad accusations based on half-assed assumptions?" Mack gave them both a pointed look, and Fitz felt his determination wavering. 

"They don't _have to_ , Mack. They have the upper hand. It's easy to float along over the people who have to claw and scrape to make it anywhere, Mack, if you've already monopolized the high ground for yourself." Mack still didn't look convinced, so Daisy continued. "I'm not saying anything that isn't true. Fitz, have they poached your employees? Bid on contracts, offering a rate they know you can't match? And did you, or did you not, solicit them for the Maker's Faires only to receive no reply?" Daisy shrugged. "Where's the lie?"

"Mack, starting a groundswell of negative attention on Simmtech...it might be the only way to get the upper hand for this grant. We need that funding, or everything changes." Fitz's mind was made up even before Mack put up his hands, surrendering to their argument. "When can you start writing, Daisy?"


	5. Chapter 5

Hunter burst into Jemma's office, eyes blazing, holding a crumpled paper in his fist. She knew what he was going to say before he began speaking.

"There's another one!"

"How did you find this blog in the first place?" Jemma asked, trying to divert him from the incoming twenty minute rant about the factual inaccuracies of the article. She certainly didn't have the energy for that at the moment.

He looked affronted, as though she'd suggested outright he was a poor security officer, or something perhaps more truly awful to him, that he was a Manchester United supporter. "I have Google Alerts set up for the company name, your name, and May's name. I have to monitor all types of threats, including the kind that come from the lunatics online."

"Ignore it." At his incredulous gasp, she continued. "No one will see it but you and her conspiracy theorist followers. It'll have no impact at all."

"This one alleges we've been illegally withholding overtime pay from the construction crew for the buildout." He dropped the printout of the article in front of her on her desk, and she smoothed it out to read it. "That was _my_ negotiation—my completely _legal_ negotiation—with the builders she's writing about. She's accusing me of a federal crime."

"She doesn't know what she's talking about, then. They're not our direct employees, so it's not our responsibility to pay them overtime. They're our contractors. We weren't charged overtime rates for the weekend work, but their management is responsible for paying them according to the law and any employment agreement they have with their workers." She rubbed her fingers together with nervous energy, then stabbed the intercom button on her desk phone and buzzed May's office.

"I sent the application over hours ago, Jemma," May said, her voice echoing over the speakerphone, "well before the deadline, as you asked. It's too late to make any changes to it n—"

"This isn't about that. Lance has brought another of those anti-Simmtech blog posts to my attention, but this one requires a bit of action. I'd like you to ask our lawyer to contact the construction company and inquire about any overtime pay they might have been denying the workers they've contracted to us. And furthermore, have her ask why one or more of their workers, who have all signed non-disclosure agreements, are speaking to the media about their work on Simmtech property. Lance will refer you to the article in question so our counsel can review it."

"Of course." May sounded angry, which was natural, given her strong sense of loyalty to the company, but Jemma regretted having to break May’s good mood. 

The remainder of Joey's visit the previous week had gone remarkably well for May and she'd been quietly floating on air ever since. They'd reconnected, though May offered few details beyond mentioning she'd helped him edit the first of his college application essays before he'd gone home. Though having Melinda May smiling, unprompted, at her coworkers in the hallways had unnerved some of the employees, it had been lovely to see her so happy, 

Until now, Jemma supposed, after these ridiculous blog posts had cast a shadow over the company's operations as well as May's good mood. 

Jemma had been subjected to far too many theories about this sudden influx of negative publicity. The most outlandish was speculation that a larger corporation wanted to buy Simmtech and was creating trouble, hoping to steal the company with an offer below market value. Bobbi had merely shrugged, saying this sort of thing was just the price of being successful. May, however, had noted the number of times the Orion Foundation grant had been mentioned, and surmised that someone was trying to torpedo their application for the funding by casting the company in a bad light in posts that the foundation administrators would be likely to see, if they kept up with the mentions of their organization online.

As Hunter threw up his hands and stormed out towards May's office with the printout, Jemma caught a glimpse of her cocktail dress hanging on the back of her door. With a grim nod, she realized she'd likely find out at the Orion Foundation reception that evening if the blog posts were on their radar, and if they might harm Simmtech's chances to secure the funding.

* * *

It was ten minutes after seven when they emerged from the cab, Jemma flanked on either side by Bobbi and Hunter. Judging by the way they brushed hands behind her back and Bobbi's indulgent, yet affectionate rolling of her eyes at Hunter, it appeared the two of them had moved into the 'on-again' portion of their on-again/off-again relationship.

Not that it had taken that long for Jemma to figure it out after Hunter had rushed into her office a second time that day, this time with a rumpled suit in his hands. He'd begged for the address of the one hour cleaners Jemma used and that's when she'd known—he and Bobbi had made up. 

If the Orion Foundation grant hadn't become such a focal point for the business in the past week, she might have considered asking Bobbi and Hunter to attend the party without her to represent Simmtech, but she really should put in an appearance if she wanted to impress the foundation administrators.

"How awkward and boring do you think this one will be?" Bobbi's voice floated forward on the chilled air, making Jemma smirk before she turned around.

"Doesn't really matter. I'd like us to make a wonderful impression, so no matter how pointless or uncomfortable it might seem, we need to be interesting and insightful conversationalists." Jemma batted Hunter's shoulder when he scoffed, and at Bobbi's vaguely threatening glance, he held up his hands in surrender.

"Who's the competition, then?" Hunter asked. "Any idea who we're up against?"

"The foundation funds scientific work done at labs in New York City, to encourage us not to move operations to a state with a lower cost of living and a more advantageous tax code. There's a handful of eligible labs and thinktanks, of course, but the most prominent organizations would have to be—"

"Well, Simmtech, of course. Right?" Hunter interrupted, and Jemma could see that competitive gleam in his eye.

"And TRC," Bobbi finished, before Jemma could. 

Jemma flinched, remembering many of TRC's higher-profile employees, as well as its CEO, could certainly recognize her from the Maker's Faire.

"Not that we're likely to see anyone from TRC here tonight," she said, mainly to reassure herself. 

"Don't they know that sucking up is the way you get your bread buttered?" Hunter said, as he tucked his arm around Bobbi's waist, following as Jemma began to walk inside.

"They rarely attend functions such as this one. When they do, it's usually Phil Coulson showing up on his own, and May mentioned to me earlier that they'd agreed amongst the two of them to sit this one out."

Bobbi looked intrigued as she and Jemma shared a look, but Hunter, never one to shy away from being blunt, put their thoughts into words. "What d'you suppose is going on there? I know neither of you are worried about any sort of corporate espionage between the two of them, but there's got to be some reason they're so attached to each other, but they chose to work at different companies. Do you think they're...well..." He made a vaguely obscene gesture with his hands and Bobbi and Jemma smacked them down immediately.

"Unless and until they choose to disclose something, it's not our place to speculate." Jemma tossed over her shoulder, as they made their way into the building.

* * *

"Did you _see_ how Mack was looking at that representative from the foundation?" Daisy hissed into Fitz's ear, and he leaned away, batting at her as though she was a particularly insistent fly buzzing around his head.

"Elena Rodriguez. That's her name. If you're about to spend the evening making a nuisance of yourself to her and to Mack—and at this point, I think it's clear you will—the least you could do is learn her name." 

"Oh, ha ha. You're telling me you didn't see the way they clicked when she introduced herself?" She leaned her palm on his shoulder, then dropped her chin on top, fully committing to bratty little sister mode. "They're both so beautiful," she sighed, her breath tickling his ear rather unpleasantly. "They'll have the most adorable babies."

He pulled away from her, watching her stumble a bit until she righted herself. "They met _twenty minutes ago_ , Daisy. You shouldn't be planning the colors for their nursery."

"I'm going to make an excuse to pull them into a conversation together," she said, ignoring everything he'd been saying. "You'll be okay on your own."

"No," he hissed. "No, I won't. I invited you to come with me—and agreed you could hand out those promo cards for your blog to anyone who showed interest, even—because I loathe these things and you promised you wouldn't leave me alone."

"I won't be long. I just have to get their conversation started and I'll be right back, Fitz. I promise."

She disappeared into the crowd, heading toward Mack, who was standing by the punchbowl and looking toward Elena with...well, even Fitz had to admit that was a rather intrigued look on his friend's face.

"Only came to this bloody thing because Coulson insisted it would strengthen our application if I made an appearance," Fitz grumbled to himself. "Now I'm here alone...talking to _myself_ like a lunatic."

He looked around, wondering how he could possibly be in a room full of people involved in science as a career, all of whom work in the same city as his own lab, and the only people he recognized were his roommate and his own employee.

Trying to blend in, he made his way to the generous spread of food at the far end of the room to load up a plate, so at least he'd have something in his hands. He was just trying to arrange the stuffed mushrooms and potato skins so he'd have room for one of the tiny pork sliders when he looked across the table and found a familiar face there.

"Aunt J?" He closed his eyes immediately, knowing it was possibly the dumbest thing he could have led with. He'd never found out her actual name, but surely there was some better, more impressive way to get her attention.

"Fitz," she said, and when he could finally open his eyes to meet hers, he saw a look of genuine, pleasant surprise coloring her features. He almost thought he'd gotten away with the bluntness of blurting out the only name of hers he knew, when a crease formed between her eyebrows and her eyes narrowed with worry. "You're here for TRC?"

"Yes." He felt the slider starting to topple off the edge, so he tore his gaze away from her to catch it mid-air, then gave up trying to find a place for it that would keep it pristine and piled it on top of the mushrooms.

"Those are rather impressive reflexes." She smiled at him, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Craning her neck, she glanced over his shoulder, then shrugged in apology. "I'm sorry, I'm waiting for my—"

"—date?"

Her head, shaking rapidly from side to side, gave him the answer before her slightly amused, "No." She examined her shoes for a moment. "I have friends here. They're newly reconciled, you see, and I suppose I'm keeping an eye on them to make sure they're not about to backslide again." She craned her neck to look again. "Perhaps I should just go—"

"Of course." There was a beat where they both stared at each other and he was much more disappointed than he would have thought at her attempt to excuse herself. He wasn't sure if it was because he would be back to awkwardly standing on his own, or because he found her oddly intriguing.

"Wow! Who would have thought the two of you would voluntarily be within ten feet of each other?"

Fitz turned to his side, reeling back a little at the stench of the open bar that rolled in waves off the man who'd appeared next to him. He was grinning at them, looking from one of them to the other, as his balance wavered a bit.

"I'm sorry?" Fitz crossed his arms over his chest, gripping his plate carefully with one hand as he tried to summon up an air of vague disapproval.

"It's all right, Fitz. I'll just be going." She started to walk away, but the drunk man's unpleasant, honking laugh seemed to freeze her in her tracks.

"The head honchos of TRC and Simmtech, havin' a pleasant little confab over finger foods." He turned to Fitz, grabbing his wrist so hard that the precariously-balanced slider fell and bounced on the table below. "She's beaten you up so many times, man. Have some pride. Throw a drink in her face."

"Aunt...J..." he said, feeling like the biggest moron in the universe. "J. For Jemma. Jemma Simmons."

"Excuse us, please, if you wouldn't mind?" Jemma's voice was acid as she stared pointedly at the drunk man, cutting through the thick haze of his thought process. He stepped back, lurching in the general direction of the open bar, and left them alone again.

"Jemma Simmons," he repeated, remembering how he'd escorted her around the fair, how he'd given up details about his business philosophy like a naive fool. "Were you spying? At the fair?"

The uncertainty disappeared from her face she pulled herself up to her full height, anger flashing in her eyes as her hands balled into fists at her sides.

"Of course I wasn't."

"That high school kid...was he an actor? Some out-of-work, off-broadway wannabe, so you'd have plausible deniability to slither onto my property and take notes about our work?"

"That's ridiculous. That young man is Melinda May's stepson, and I've known him since he was seven years old. You can verify that with Phil Coulson, if you're really so suspicious of my intentions. We attended your Maker's Faire for the very purpose I gave you that day. Is that not a legitimate enough reason?"

"You weasel your way into _my_ territory, talk to my employees, sidle up to me as though you had _no idea_ who I was, just before competition for this grant was about to heat up, and I'm supposed to believe you couldn't think of any other way to counsel your sort-of-nephew about his future job prospects?"

She closed her eyes, her chest heaving with slow, measured breaths as though she was trying to calm herself. "I was asked, as a personal favor to one of the most dear people in my life, to help him. The only day I had free to spend with him was a weekend, and the expansion construction at Simmtech has emptied out the facility during off-hours. I couldn't show him anything of substance there, not without being drowned out by the sound of power tools."

"How stupid do you think I am?" He dropped his plate, and as though she was reverse-mirroring him, she snatched her own from the pile and piled shrimp onto it, scooping cocktail sauce next to them with the tiny spoon in the dish.

"Perhaps you'd like to make your question a bit more specific? Exactly what sort of stupidity would you like me to evaluate?" She rolled her eyes, sighing dramatically. "Of course you aren't stupid, Fitz. You're obviously a genius. That's not up for debate."

She began to tap the spoon, making a criminally large pile of the cocktail sauce on her plate, which Fitz thought was exactly what the owner of Simmtech would do. Take all the sauce and leave nothing for anyone else.

"Why are you taking all the cocktail sauce? You dip the shrimp, you put them on your plate. You don't take half the container with you." He leaned over the table to put his hand on her wrist, stopping her from emptying another spoonful. She looked shocked and both of them froze, his hand over hers, their gazes locked. It hit him suddenly, a visceral memory of the curiosity he'd had about her at the fair, the easy jokes they'd made, and how natural it had felt to talk to her.

But of course she'd made the conversation easy...she'd been there to get information out of him. It must have all been an act, not a single genuine moment between them. 

"I've left most of it behind, if you'll take another look. I don't actually like the taste of shrimp on their own. I need quite a bit of sauce, and more if it's not properly spicy, so I didn't want to run out." She got an impish smile on her face as she daintily removed his hand from her wrist. "It has been seven days," she added, her voice raspy for some reason, "since I ran out of ketchup."

"You...what?" He'd gone through so many transitions in the past few minutes that he felt rather disoriented, and whatever she'd meant by this last puzzling statement had gone right over his head.

"The Martian? Andy Weir? Modern science fiction classic?" She scoffed. "Honestly, Fitz. You really should make time for a bit of reading. Or at least watch the movie."

"That scientifically inaccurate—"

"—you have to be joking, Fitz, it's one of the few sci-fi novels ever written to get so much _right_ —"

"—the dust storm is absolute _rubbish_ , there's not enough atmospheric pressure on Mars to create such a destructive—"

"—ugh, Fitz, really, it's the one bit of dramatic license he took to further the plot—"

"—because the dangers of space travel certainly aren't dramatic enough on their own." He shook himself back to his senses. "What are we even talking about?"

"Dust storms on Mars and my criminal overuse of cocktail sauce, apparently." She put the spoon down for good at that, and then she looked dangerously like she was about to walk away. He couldn't let her do that, not until he'd gotten her to explain how she'd had the audacity to spend the better part of an afternoon with him without disclosing who she was.

"You're changing the subject." 

"I'm changing the—Fitz, you're the one who made accusations about the hoarding of cocktail sauce, of all ridiculous things."

"The Maker's Faire, at TRC. You went there to spy on me, to learn the secrets of how my company operates, and you're accusing _me_ of changing the—"

"I've accused you of nothing. I've tried to explain my presence at a _public event_ you held _voluntarily_ , where there was no access to any of the work areas of your building. If I was spying, Fitz, I certainly chose a silly time to try. Not that I don't know precisely what goes on behind the doors. I've been working in the science community here in the city for longer than you have. I don't need to spy on you to know everything I need to know."

"I'm sure my former employees who are now wearing Simmtech badges every day—"

"—have done everything utterly above-board. We would never ask them to violate the non-disclosure agreement they signed with you." She was properly angry now, her lips trembling before she spoke again. "You broke even your first five years, but that's changed. You used to license a few of your patents each fiscal year, but you've curtailed even that in the last eighteen months. While you took only a small loss during your last quarter, you also reduced your salary to offset the better part of the company's losses. You probably have...what...six months, perhaps less, if you don't win this grant or get some other infusion of capital?"

He could only stand there like an idiot after hearing her disturbingly accurate description of the state of his company. Every possible response died on his lips, her expectant expression morphing to quiet triumph as she seemed to realize he was dumbstruck.

"Who's your friend, Fitz?" Daisy slung her arm around his shoulders, whispering some nonsense about Mack and Elena Rodriguez that he couldn't quite pay attention to over the white noise buzzing in his head.

Jemma stuck out her hand over the table, toward Daisy, who shook it before Jemma began to introduce herself. "Jemma Simmons. Have you tried the shrimp? Be sure to take plenty of cocktail sauce!"

Daisy's hand stopped moving and she pulled away, leaning back on Fitz's shoulder. "Simmtech, huh? Interesting. I'm Daisy Johnson."

It appeared it was Jemma's turn to be dumbstruck, and when Fitz saw her reaction, he knew she must have seen the blog articles Daisy had written.

"Ah." Jemma nodded, tight, clipped movements as she looked down. "Your girlfriend, Fitz, apparently shares your affinity for unfounded allegations. You make quite a pair."

"She isn't my girlfriend," he corrected her, wondering why it bothered him so much that Jemma had assumed he and Daisy were together.

* * *

"I'm Fitz's roommate, and I've had to watch him struggle while your crass, corporate, money-before-ethics lab beats him into the ground." Daisy spat the words out as Jemma tried to control her temper in favor of a more measured response.

"Yes. Our work at Simmtech hasn't done anything to benefit anyone, is that right? We're just after the almighty dollar?" Daisy looked a little less confident as Jemma's mind whirled, wondering what she should confront her with first. "I suppose that's why we've donated thousands of manhours to the Vaccine Research Center, resulting in three improved vaccination protocols in the last two years alone? Or why we donate our after-hours CPU idle time to the IBM World Community Grid? But they're only attempting to find cures to trifling conditions like muscular dystrophy, AIDS and childhood cancer."

"How many animals did you torture to make those breakthroughs?" Daisy smirked at Jemma, clearly believing she'd just won.

"Animal testing at Simmtech has always been done at standards well above the minimums stipulated in the Animal Welfare act, and in accordance with any requirements given to us by the National Institutes of Health. But that's irrelevant now. Animal testing has been phased out at Simmtech for over four years. We do our testing exclusively on cell and tissue cultures now, or with computer simulations." It was Bobbi's voice, her barely-restrained annoyance obvious as she bit out each word. Jemma turned to find Bobbi and Hunter behind her, realizing they must have been there long enough to hear at least some of the conversation, as both of them looked rather angry. "And Jemma herself hasn't contributed much of note, other than running our crass, commercial venture, isn't that right? I mean, she's won an award or two, but nothing important. The one they gave you last year, Jemma, for the research you did into RNA degradation. What is it called?"

Jemma hadn't intended to trumpet her own accomplishments, not when it was Simmtech itself that needed defending, but she was proud of the work that had been recognized and saw no reason not to mention it now that Bobbi had led the conversation there. "Ah, yes. It starts with a W...some sort of animal, isn't it? Odd name for an accolade, wasn't it?"

"The Wolf Foundation Prize. You won it in 2014, actually. Not last year." Fitz shifted awkwardly on his feet as he spoke, and Jemma's mood changed in a second. She felt awful. She'd been baited into defending herself, but all he'd done was get angry at her for not introducing herself. Now she was allowing herself to think about it, she probably should have done so, or at least apologized to him when he discovered what she'd done. Instead, she'd taken Fitz apart piece by piece, bragged about her own accomplishments, and—judging by the way he'd crossed his arms protectively in front of himself—made him feel very small.

"You know, Daisy Johnson," Hunter said, after a long moment of far too much silence between the five of them, "when you aren't posting wild accusations about Simmtech, you're a good writer."

Bobbi smacked him on the arm and he gave her a wounded look.

"I'd like to think I'm a good writer even when I'm posting about the way you're taking advantage of those construction workers." Daisy's inclined chin painted her with an air of defiance, but Hunter merely chuckled in response.

"I was hoping you'd bring that up. We've looked into it, and I've seen the timecards and pay stubs from our contractor, and verified the amounts with several of the workers. Stopped by when they were on their coffee break, having the drinks and snacks this one," Hunter said, gesturing to Jemma, "insisted we have brought in for them, starting from the very first day they stepped onto our property. You really should check out your sources. You talked to a bloke named Sammy, I'm guessing?"

Daisy looked quite a bit less sure of herself, but she jumped in, trying to defend her work. "If you think I'm going to reveal my source—"

"Doesn't matter," Hunter broke in, waving his hand dismissively. "He's just been fired for attempting to pad out his timecard for hours he didn't work. That's what he wasn't paid for, by the way, hours they knew he couldn't have worked. All other overtime hours have been properly compensated. I can get you a letter from our lawyer to prove it, but I'm guessing you won't bother to write a retraction."

"She'll take the post down," Fitz said, his voice still quiet. He looked pointedly at Daisy, then at the phone she held in her hand. "Now, please."

Daisy sighed, then tapped at her phone for a minute before she looked up again. "It's gone."

"The retraction will go up as soon as she's back at a proper keyboard," Fitz added, and Daisy reluctantly nodded.

"Now, that article about executive/worker pay inequality from a few months ago," Hunter said, launching into his question before anyone else could speak. "Was all of that true? Because it seems so—"

"Wait. You really want to talk about that?" Daisy seemed confused, but when Hunter nodded, she shook herself, narrowing her eyes as she watched him carefully. "Go on..."

"I wasn't kidding. I really do enjoy the rest of your blog, when you aren't posting unfounded slander about my employer. Anyway, what do you think about the—ow!" Hunter rubbed his arm where Bobbi had just hit him again.

"Show some loyalty, Hunter," Bobbi said, glaring at him.

"It's fine." Jemma just wanted all of this to stop. She knew what May had told her, that she had a commitment to her own employees to fight for all the work and funding she could get, but seeing Fitz this evening was giving her second thoughts. He had employees who would clearly do anything for him and a friend who was willing to write possibly slanderous blog posts in an attempt to help him. His obvious discomfort at being here, squaring off with the competition, made her regret every contentious moment of their argument.

As Hunter and Daisy moved off to the side, nodding in agreement with each other as they began discussing the other topics covered on her blog, Bobbi moved with them to show her obvious displeasure to Hunter, leaving Fitz and Jemma alone again.

"Fitz, I—" she began, trying to think of some way to apologize without invalidating the sincere defense of Simmtech she still felt perfectly justified making. "I really shouldn't have...I mean, when I said—"

"Excuse me, please," he said, turning around and walking away before Jemma could say anything to stop him. He kept walking, even when Mack stepped forward to talk to him, until the doors leading out of the reception hall closed behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

`To: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`   
`From: stargazer@founders-faction`

`Have you ever been in a situation where there were two separate, mutually-exclusive paths to take, but they both seem to be the right course?`

`Ugh, I wish that was what was really bothering me. I've hurt someone. I was honestly in the wrong about something and as I think back on it now, I was too busy defending myself to apologize. But what's worse, I went on to say some unkind things. It felt justified at the time, but now...I regret all of it. I wish I could take it back and start over.`

`Have you ever been in a situation like this one? Handled a conversation as though you were the worst possible version of yourself?`

`Oh, of course you haven't. You're far too kind a person to act this way, circuitbreaker. I can just sense it.`

* * *

`To: stargazer@founders-faction`   
`From: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`

`At least *you* can defend yourself. I was in a conversation--well, argument, I suppose--recently, and I stood there like an idiot, saying nothing of substance.`

`Count yourself lucky, stargazer. You were able to say *something*, even if you regret it now. I'm stuck here, thinking of all the things I could have said, but I didn't have the presence of mind to do anything in the moment.`

* * *

`To: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`   
`From: stargazer@founders-faction`

`I was pleasantly surprised to see your answer come so quickly! Would you like to...I don't know why I'm so nervous asking this... Would you like to talk in real time? Do you have a Skype account that wouldn't give away your identity?`

* * *

She dropped her phone the instant she'd pressed SEND, pulling her laptop toward her to create a new, anonymous Skype account for herself. Though she knew there was no chance 'stargazer' would still be available as a username, she still checked it, sighing when she found it was taken. Holding her breath, she tried 'stargazer1987', and clapped her hand over her mouth in delight when she discovered it was available.

She finished making her new account and logged in, then picked up her phone with trembling hands. She couldn't even look at the message icon, shielding her eyes with her free hand until she plucked up the courage to check.

It was lit with a red '1', and when she tapped it, she giggled as she read what he'd sent to her.

`To: stargazer@founders-faction`   
`From: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`

`No cameras? At least, not yet? Add 1circuitbreaker1 if that's all right.`

* * *

Jemma dropped her phone again, going back to the laptop. She added '1circuitbreaker1' to her contacts with trembling fingers, stopping once to shake out her hands, as though she could brush away the nervousness and over-excitement that way. She needed to be calm, or she would likely say something ridiculous, something she'd send too quickly and wish later she could take back.

She opened a chat with this account's one and only contact, stifling yet another giggle—when had she become this silly?—when he opened with a line that was vintage circuitbreaker.

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] So...hi? Just to get this out of the way, I'm terrified of sounding like a complete arse.`

She'd wondered before if he wasn't American, with several clues to some kind of U.K. heritage sprinkled through his messages, and his use of 'arse' made it rather certain. She was tempted just to ask, but opening with a demand for the kind of personal information they'd avoided thus far felt like a bit of an overreach.

`[ stargazer1987 ] I am as well, so at least we have that in common. Let's start with something non-controversial. What did you have for dinner?`

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] You want to be non-controversial, and you decided to ask about food? Do you, or do you not recall the Great Tea Debate of three and a half weeks ago?`

`[ stargazer1987 ] It's your own fault, really. Ruining good tea with so much sugar, you might as well be drinking syrup. Anyway, I'll start. I had a vegetable stir-fry with a side of herbed quinoa.`

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] What a coincidence! I had the same thing.`

`[ stargazer1987 ] You're impossible. Do you really expect me to believe that?`

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] I've been told I'm quite an impossible man. Many times, actually.`

`[ stargazer1987 ] I suppose we did say 'no specifics', not 'no lying', so we'll overlook your obvious prevarication about your eating habits. Okay, let's try another one. How was work? I assume you went to work today, as you re-captured all your usual access points. (It's nice to see you back in the game, by the way. You missed a few days. I was starting to worry.)`

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] Yeah, sorry I disappeared. It was because of work, actually. Well, indirectly. That argument I had--well, that happened around me, while I couldn't think of anything intelligent to say? That was work-related. We're at a bit of a turning point, and I'm not sure it's going to break my way.`

`[ stargazer1987 ] Why don't you tell me about it? Perhaps I could help you come up with some new ideas? I love brainstorming, and I'd be happy to help.`

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] I wish you could help, but the 'no specifics' rule was *your* rule, stargazer. I'm not sure I could explain it without giving too much away.`

`[ stargazer1987 ] Without specifics, then, we'll find another way for you to look at your problem, whatever it is. I'll poke at you until we find a new perspective.`

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] All right, I'm game.`

Jemma gulped, thinking of the conflict she'd been feeling lately, between her commitment to her own company and worrying about what might happen to TRC. The only way she'd been able to focus on what Simmtech needed was to push her concerns for TRC to the side and focus on how to give her own company the best chance for success.

`[ stargazer1987 ] First, I find it's important to be bold. The answer may be right in front of you, but perhaps you're holding yourself back? In business (and no, I don't know what business you're in, but I can't imagine this is very different regardless of the field you're in) you often have to remember who and what you're fighting for, and do what needs to be done. Your rivals will contest every inch there is to be gained. Think of anyone who might be counting on you or your own professional reputation--anything that will motivate you and remind you of the goals you're well within your rights to pursue. You have to fight to win. No mercy.`

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] That...that might be exactly what I needed to hear. I'm feeling more galvanized, that's for sure. It's just...I'm still not sure what to do. Some of this is, unfortunately, out of my control.`

`[ stargazer1987 ] Don't spend time on aspects of your problem that are out of your control...not when your energies should be directed at variables you can affect yourself.`

There was a bit of a pause, and she was afraid she was pushing too hard, that they'd chosen a poor topic of discussion for their first real-time chat. Perhaps she should have thought of something flirty, instead? She blushed, remembering how Bobbi had asked her what movie rating she'd give their messages. Should she have taken things in a more brazenly intimate direction?

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] No comment, other than to say you're quite insightful. I *have* put too much energy into the aspects of my situation that I can't change. The difficulty here is that, honestly, so much of what will determine the outcome of this is out of my hands.`

Setting aside her concerns about the tone of their chat, she jumped straight into the information he'd given her.

`[ stargazer1987 ] Perhaps you've developed tunnel vision? Is that possible? When I'm feeling boxed in, it's often because there's a perfectly good solution--it's just not one that I'd let myself consider until I forced myself to do it.`

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] I feel like you can see exactly what I'm thinking. Yes, there's another solution to my problem, but it's one I'm not willing to pursue. It would require me to let someone down, and sacrifice something I can't give up.`

Her thoughts blanked for a moment, and she fell back onto her pillow, looking up at the ceiling and thinking. She didn't have the right details about his situation to know if she should push him harder to look for another solution, or try to think of another way to help him. But beyond that, she saw an opening to ask him something the two of them had been dancing around for weeks. All this talking back and forth...their unique brand of flirting, and she had no idea if he was dating or married, or if he felt the same flip-flop of anticipation in his stomach that she did when she saw there was a message waiting.

Perhaps it was time to derail the conversation a bit, and take this opportunity to mine for the information she wanted. Especially as she saw an opening to get the answers she wanted in a light-hearted way, one she could play off if it turned out he was happily married and had no interest in her beyond the platonic.

`[ stargazer1987 ] I see your problem now. You have a girlfriend or boyfriend--or perhaps wife? Husband? And that person is tired of the long hours you work. They want more of you, but you have to put that time into your business. You love your business, but you love your partner too, and you're not sure what to do?`

She pressed ENTER and held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut until she heard the noise that accompanied an incoming message.

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] No, it's not that. The person I'd be letting down...they've passed away.`

There was a pause, and she wondered if he'd side-step the other question entirely. Just as she was trying to figure out how to ask again without actually...asking again, a new message from him appeared in the window.

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] But...I'm not seeing anyone, stargazer. And I'm not married.`

The exhale left her as she closed her eyes with relief. Her heart was beating faster, her hands shaking again, too much for her to type any sort of response.

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] What about you? Are you seeing anyone?`

The cursor blinked at her, ticking off the seconds as she tried to calm her hands enough to send some sort of message back.

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] You don't have to answer. I'm sorry. Let's talk about something else.`

His message arrived just as she pressed ENTER to send hers, and her brow furrowed with worry that she'd made him feel awkward about asking, when she was actually rather overjoyed that he cared.

`[ stargazer1987 ] No. I'm not seeing anyone.`

`[ 1circuitbreaker1 ] Is it terrible that I'm happy to hear that?`

`[ stargazer1987 ] I don't think that's terrible at all.`

Her breathing was shaky and fast, and she braced one palm on her chest in another attempt to find equilibrium. It felt as though they were on the cusp of something, but if one of them didn't dive in, take a real chance, they might never progress past vague questions and hope.

`[ stargazer1987 ] Do you think we should...meet? I know a great cafe on 85th.`

* * *

Fitz shoved his chair back from the desk, afraid of what he'd type if he was too close to the keyboard. 

There was nothing he wanted to do more, really, than meet this woman. Imagine, getting the chance to discover how amazing she was in person. What he couldn't bear, though, was the look of disappointment he feared he'd see the moment they met, when she realized he wasn't what she'd hoped for.

Looking down at himself, he made the same appraisal he'd gone through earlier, when stargazer had first suggested Skype. Too short...weird hair...a penchant for patterned shirts, which Daisy endlessly teased him about, and perpetual bags under his eyes from too much work and too little sleep. That's why he'd been adamant about a 'no cameras' rule.

He couldn't help feeling like an unimpressive-looking, workaholic, nerd—with a failing company, on top of it. And even if they made it past the first meeting, his sparse experience with dating probably meant he'd be clueless, make mistake after mistake, and exasperate her into ending it.

He looked back at the keyboard, trying to get a sense of how much time had passed. He couldn't imagine what she was thinking, suggesting something that must have taken quite a bit of courage on her part, just to be met with the online equivalent of a blank stare.

Scrambling back into the chair, he tried to think of a way to stall their meeting for a bit...perhaps a month or two? He could go to the gym with Mack and work out to make himself more appealing. What would be a reasonable excuse? Perhaps he could say he'd love to meet her, but he was preparing for an overseas trip, a business obligation, and he wouldn't be back for weeks. Or maybe he needed some sort of minor surgery—ugh, but that implied he had a medical problem, which was a terrible thing to lie about.

He flexed his fingers, about to start typing, when another message from her appeared on the screen.

`[ stargazer1987 ] You know, you're right. It was a silly idea. Sorry to make things a bit awkward. Let's just...pretend I didn't ask, all right? Oh, and I've got to run. I'll talk to you soon, okay?`

The marker on her user icon changed, switching immediately to the 'offline' indicator.

* * *

There was no other word for it. This was what _agony_ felt like. This was the feeling of having everything you'd ever wanted in the palm of your hand, but you were too slow and too foolish to grab it and hold on tight. 

He leaned back, almost dumping the chair over backwards, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyelids so hard that it bordered on painful. It was unbelievable how badly he'd just cocked that up.

As his disbelief began to subside and it began to sink in—yes, moron, you were offered an opportunity to meet the woman you can't stop thinking about, and you blew it—his mind began whirring, looking for some way to fix it.

He could message her in the game, give her some reason that would hopefully excuse his hesitation. He could insist his power had gone off, severing his internet connection...but no, she'd never believe that. Skype had helpfully shown her an 'online' indicator, he was sure, right until the moment she'd logged out. It was a terrible lie, one it was too easy to get caught in.

Instead of a lie, of course, he could tell her the truth. Admit he was petrified of meeting her and not measuring up. Perhaps she'd even lower her expectations, and not end up so disappointed the moment she laid eyes on him. The idea of it, though...it was just so humiliating, starting off this new direction to their relationship on such a pathetic note. 

He grabbed his phone and was about to work on a message— _any_ message—just to make sure he didn't hesitate so long that stargazer gave up on him, and found his in-game mail icon lit up, already waiting for him, instead. He sighed. His disgrace was complete.

` To: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`   
`From: stargazer@founders-faction`

`Please forgive me for that abrupt disappearance. I was so embarrassed to have put you on the spot that way and I suppose I retreated before I considered the impression it would give you. Asking you about meeting in person was impulsive, and you're quite sensible to be hesitant.`

`Perhaps we aren't ready for that. I still quite enjoy talking with you, and I hope this misstep won't change that.`

Daisy appeared in his doorway, probably drawn by the loud groan he let out as he reread the message, allowing stargazer's words (more gracious than he deserved) to sink in. She'd been brave, he'd failed to meet her halfway, and now _she_ was apologizing for it to _him_. 

"Fitz, what's going—"

"Yet again," he ranted, throwing his phone down on his desk, "I've stood around, not able to think of something to say, and made a bloody fool out of myself. First, I gaped at Jemma bloody Simmons as she took TRC and me apart, piece by piece, and I had no answer for her. Now, I just got handed a chance to...well, never mind what...but I've bollocksed that up as well."

"You don't rush into things. You like to take a problem apart and fix it by putting it back together again, and take time to consider things. It isn't your fault the world's always in a hurry." Daisy leaned against his chair, ruffling his hair affectionately.

He sat forward, planting his face in his hands, and groaned again. "That's it. I'm going to invent something that makes me a billionaire, buy a deserted tropical island, and move there to study monkeys. I'm clearly not fit for polite human society."

"Fitz, there's—" Daisy began, sounding hesitant. "Well, I might be able to help you with one of your problems." At his beleaguered sigh, she admitted, "Listen, I know you have every reason to be wary after that screw-up with the overtime pay post I made...but I can't have this one wrong. I've got it all on video, and it wouldn't be coming from us this time. It'd be coming straight from them."

"No." Fitz had sworn off accepting any more of Daisy's help after that fiasco at the Orion Foundation reception. "Absolutely not."

"Just...come out to the living room. Watch what I've been putting together the last few hours. If you don't want me to use it after that, I won't. I promise. All you have to do is take a look at it."

* * *

Daisy planted him on the couch and handed him her laptop, then she flopped next to him, prodding him in the side to start reading. There was a draft blog post up, and he read the beginning paragraphs, talking about revealing information about Simmtech business practices the public should know about.

`This blog was responsible for an error in reporting about Simmtech, a mistake I've taken to heart. This time, to ensure there won't be any misunderstandings, I've decided to let the actions and words of Simmtech's employees, including their own CEO, speak for themselves.`

Following that, there were two videos.

The first was labeled, "Brazen Attempt at Corporate Espionage by Jemma Simmons, CEO of Simmtech". Fitz's mouth dropped open after he pressed play, watching footage of himself and Jemma at his circuitry exhibit at the last Maker's Faire.

"Where did this—"

"I offered to edit together the footage your employees took at the last fair you put on, to add to your grant application, remember? I went through all of it, and one of your employees—who deserves a raise, as soon as you win this grant and turn everything around—caught this. You can see her picking up all those pieces of your proprietary tech and really studying them." Daisy reached forward, stabbing his trackpad to pause the video. "Look at how she's turning that piece over and over in her hands, like she's trying to memorize everything about it. I can't believe she told you she didn't go there to spy on you."

"I'm not sure she did, Daisy. And even _if_ she did, this doesn't prove anything."

"This isn't a court of law. It's the court of public opinion, and the decision-makers at the Orion Foundation—that's who we really need to convince." Daisy scrolled a little further down the page, pointing to the next video. "Watch the next one too, before you tell me not to do it."

He pressed play, and shaky footage from the reception of Jemma Simmons and the woman who'd come up behind her to help defend Simmtech, taken from what looked like Daisy's waist level, came to life.

"You were recording them?"

"Shhh. Listen to what we got when I did."

The excerpt was short, but the way Daisy had excised this bit from the rest of the conversation, incredibly damning.

"Animal testing at Simmtech has always been done at standards well above the minimums stipulated in the Animal Welfare act," the blonde woman over Jemma Simmons's shoulder said, "and in accordance with any requirements given to us by the National Institutes of Health. But that's irrelevant now."

The video stopped there. Because he'd been there, Fitz knew it wasn't faked—though it was taken wildly out of context—but he couldn't believe how inflammatory it sounded in isolation.

`This blog hopes that activists in the animal rights community will look into the possibility of animal testing at Simmtech, and why they might consider the concerns of the NIH and the stipulations of the Animal Welfare act to be irrelevant.`

After that post-video blurb, Daisy had linked several animal rights activism blogs, and Fitz could only imagine the series of events that would be set in motion if he allowed Daisy to post this.

"We can't do this, Daisy. You heard them. They said they'd stopped that sort of testing four years ago." Fitz read over the text again, noticing how carefully Daisy had worded it to avoid any sort of direct lie. Of course, it was obviously a lie by omission, a distinction he was mulling when he realized she was trying to get his attention.

"Fitz, it'll all get straightened out. Just...hopefully...after the grant gets awarded?" Daisy had the sense to look a little admonished, but she still seemed adamant about making her full case to him before he asked her not to publish the post. "I didn't modify that video, I just very carefully chose the moment when I'd cut it off. I never said they still did animal testing, or what sort of conclusion anyone should draw from what that Simmtech employee said."

"You just implied it."

Daisy shrugged. "If you want this, I think you're going to have to be ruthless. Do anything you can to win."

"You sound like...you're the second person in the last half hour to give me that exact advice." Fitz glanced up, trying to remember what stargazer had typed to him. "Remember who and what you're fighting for and do what needs to be done," he quoted. "No mercy."

"That's the spirit!" Daisy clapped him on the back. "Should I upload this post?"

"I have to focus on what's under my control, right?" he asked, vaguely pointing the question at the universe, and not just to Daisy. "And there's not much here I _can_ control, is there?"

"Except public opinion, and Simmtech's reputation. If they're really as clean as they say they are it'll all come out eventually, and we still won't have lied about them. They can stand to lose one grant to you, Fitz."

"I don't...I just don't know."

"Think of what you could do with that money. It's all for the greater good. Don't lose that killer instinct you had a minute ago. Come on. Tell me to click the button."

He squeezed his eyes shut, stargazer's advice mixing with Daisy's now incessant chanting of "Do it, do it, do it, do it," as he tried to think.

This really seemed like his last shot—the only chance TRC had to survive through the next six months unchanged and give him a chance to turn things around. All his employees, the kids who came through on field trips...they were all counting on him to do the hard thing when he had to.

So, even though it went against every instinct Fitz had, he nodded at Daisy, who clicked the POST button with a triumphant whoop.


	7. Chapter 7

Even with her bluetooth speaker on its loudest setting and her favorite playlist streaming to drown out the noise outside, Jemma couldn't concentrate. It was the third day in a row the Simmtech building had been blanketed with protesters. She had no idea how they could chant so loudly and for so long, but they appeared to be made of stronger stuff than she'd initially thought.

"It's not cool...to be cruel! It's not cool...to be cruel!" The voices carried up to her window, the constant repetition setting her on edge.

Bobbi leaned into Jemma's office, her jacket on and her bag slung over her shoulder. "I've been trying to wait them out. Do you think they're leaving anytime soon?"

Jemma pushed her chair back, looking out the window. "They don't appear to be going anywhere. They were here yesterday until after seven o'clock. I honestly think they'll be here until sunset."

Hunter's head appeared next to Bobbi's. "If you'd let me explore alternate ways to disperse the crowd, as I asked you about earlier—"

"You can't intimidate people on public property, even if they..." Jemma paused, raising her voice for the next bit as though they could hear her outside, "...utterly lack originality with their slogans!"

"Do you think the news segment will calm them down?" Bobbi asked, looking hopeful, and Jemma felt awful. The footage on Daisy Johnson's blog of Jemma's incognito trip to the Maker's Faire had mostly been shot from behind, and she'd been able to slip past the protesters with only a small amount of trouble. Bobbi, however, was easily recognizable from the video taken of her misrepresented animal testing statements, and she was a favorite target of the protesters. 

Bobbi was getting yelled at and mobbed on her way in and out, the situation escalating until one of them had tried to throw red paint on her when she'd come to work that morning. That had earned the protesters a warning from the police, but it had done little to dampen their enthusiasm to spend the day screaming on the sidewalk in front of the building from sunrise to sundown.

"I hope so. I cleared up the entire misunderstanding with the reporter, and showed her around all the biotech labs, pointing out the complete lack of any animal testing. She interviewed dozens of employees, all of whom verified our research protocol for her." Jemma looked at her watch, gesturing for them to join her in the office. "The news is about to start. Why don't you come in and watch?"

Jemma brought up a stream of the local station, and the three of them made small talk until Jemma heard the news anchor introducing the story they'd been waiting for.

"Now, in local news: NYC research firm discontinues animal testing after feeling the heat from animal rights protesters. Government contractor Simmtech, headed by Jemma Simmons—"

"Oi, that's _Doctor_ Jemma Simmons," Hunter sputtered. It would have made Jemma laugh, her title protected by Hunter, of all people, who was fond of making up comical alternatives to it, if her heart hadn't been sinking at yet another misrepresentation of her company in the media.

The news had switched to the pre-recorded segment while Hunter had been yelling at Jemma's monitor, and Jemma hoped the report itself would be more accurate than the lead-in. 

"Simmtech," the reporter said in voice-over, as the camera panned over a shot of the protesters outside, and then up the side of their building to the new construction, "currently in the middle of a large expansion project, has responded to the concerns of local animal rights groups by eliminating all animal testing."

They switched to a clip of Jemma, who performed a toxicity test in a petri dish for the camera, explaining as she went. "We've developed a proprietary cell culture useful in many kinds of biological trials, as well as a series of sophisticated computer models which can predict the corrosivity or toxicity of a chemical with much more accuracy than any animal testing."

The story cut to a shot of one of the protesters, filmed on the sidewalk outside their building. "We're pleased Simmtech has stopped the horrifying practice of animal mutilation, but we've agreed to stay until the end of the week, just to make sure they don't decide to backslide." The woman shook her sign, featuring a grisly photo of a rabbit with a disfigured eye, at the camera.

"We've _never_ done tissue irritation testing here," Bobbi fumed.

"And we phased out the last uses of lab rats _years_ ago, not as a response to this..." Jemma waved her hand in the general direction of the window, "...mis-informed group of people on our sidewalk, all of whom seem to think I'm up here murdering bunnies for fun. I don't understand how that reporter misunderstood me so badly."

"She didn't." Hunter shrugged. "Bet they thought this would make for better ratings, and they figured they could say they didn't understand the information you gave them if you complained. It is science, after all. Rather confusing to the rest of us."

"I can't go out there," Bobbi said, shrugging out of her coat and flopping into the chair opposite Jemma's desk.

Jemma couldn't blame her, knowing she couldn't take much more of the screaming and taunting from the people outside. "Do you think the protesters will do somethi—"

"No." Bobbi was angry, her arms crossed over her chest as she seethed. "I'm afraid of what I'll do to them."

"I've got a fifth of Tanqueray in the locked drawer of my desk," Hunter offered. "Grab a drink together while we wait 'em out?"

"Hunter, you shouldn't have gin in your—" Jemma stopped, reconsidering the timing of this particular argument. "Yes. Go get it. I've got glasses."

* * *

`To: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`  
`From: stargazer@founders-faction`

`I wish I could explain to you the crazy situation I have with work right now. I know I haven't been playing the game as much, but I haven't been able to get away for mid-day walks. I'm starting to think the sushi place down the street will worry something's happened to me.`

`We don't seem to talk as much as we used to, either. If it's because of what I asked you about, I wanted to apologize again, and reassure you. The more I think about it, it's good that we aren't rushing things. Everything is crazy at work and my focus should really be there...but I suppose I'd mentioned that already. I'm sure it's the same for you, right?`

* * *

It had been a terrible, stressful week for Fitz after the grant application was done and out of their hands, and the wait began. Mack had been grinning like an idiot in the hallways at work, his usual laser-focus on his projects faltering a bit as his relationship with Elena began to progress. Each time Mack mentioned her, it got progressively harder for Fitz to stop himself from begging for the inside scoop on the direction the board was leaning.

He was about to do his Friday morning walk around, check in with a few of his project leads, when Coulson stuck his head in the doorway, asking if Fitz had a moment. He nodded, but winced when Coulson pulled the door shut behind them.

"I just took a call from an old friend of mine who works in contracts at Boeing," Coulson began, and Fitz couldn't help it—he interrupted, trying to guess what Coulson had come here to say.

"We lost it," Fitz guessed. "The subcontract for the jet design, they're going with someone else."

"No." Coulson smiled tightly at Fitz's sigh of relief. "The program leads love your proposal, and we'd have it already if there wasn't a concern...one they're still debating internally."

"Is it anything we can clear up? Is that why your friend—"

"Yes, but I'm afraid it might not be that simple." Coulson cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable with whatever he had to say next. "The stipulations you gave them...they're a sticking point."

"We're well within our rights to ask who the jets might be sold to, and what they'd be used for."

"You're asking them for information they can't possibly have. They could sell planes to an ally only to have the political climate change, and we end up on different sides. And as far as knowing how your tech would be used...Fitz, a lot of that would be classified. Boeing won't have all the information, so how could they honor your request?"

"Perhaps they should be insisting the government release the information to _them_. Don't they care how their work—" He stopped, frustrated. "I'm not about to let—" 

"This is how we lose out on these contracts, Fitz. You put in so many stumbling blocks that we end up out of the running. It's almost like you're _trying_ to shoot yourself in the foot, so you won't have to really consider working on something you're afraid might be in an ethically grey area."

"You're saying that like it's a bad thing." Fitz got to up pace on his side of the room, trying to tamp down his anger. "This is the same old argument—"

"One we won't be having for much longer, Fitz, if you don't start listening. You can't continue to drive business partners away with unreasonable demands."

"Unreasonable!" Fitz threw one hand up in exasperation. "We have every right to know where our technology is going to end—"

"No one else in the industry puts this many obstacles in the way. You make demands no one else could get away with because of the quality work we put out, but that's still not enough for most of our potential business partners. We've lost the angel investors who gave you enough capital to float for years with policies like this. Now that we're standing on our own, the coffers are going dry, and nothing in the industry has changed. They'll all mourn the _idea_ of this place after you have to close it, but they'll move on."

"I'm going out," Fitz bit out, and Coulson's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"You can't just run away from this conversation, Fitz, this is it. It's been coming for a long time—"

"We'll win the grant and we'll tell Boeing where to get off if they don't like the way I do business. It's all under control, Coulson. Now, get out of my way."

"Fitz—" 

"I'll be back in an hour or so, and you can complain at me all you like then." Fitz brushed past Coulson, letting the door slam open as he went through it. He didn't acknowledge anyone on the way out, not even Koenig, who tried to flag him down for some sort of question. 

Finding himself on the sidewalk before he'd even decided where he was going, he patted his pockets, groaning when he realized his phone was still sitting on his desk, upstairs. Unwilling to tuck his tail between his legs and venture back up to retrieve it, he frowned, angry he wouldn't be able to take an Exiken walk.

Shoving his hands into his empty pockets, he started for the park. He figured he could manage, just this once, to go on a walk without having a secondary Exiken objective or two. The fallen leaves crunched under his feet as he stomped along, looking up only as much as was necessary to avoid bumping into anyone else.

As the chilly air bit through the thin fabric of his shirt, he became more and more annoyed at how quickly he'd left, forgetting everything he'd need while he was out. His favorite jacket was on the back of his desk chair, not doing him any good where he was.

More cranky than he'd been when he'd left, he slumped onto the first bench he saw, looking into the branches overhead and noticing how empty they were. The leaves were mostly gone, and with them, the warblers he'd sketched a few weeks ago. As alive as everything around him had seemed on that day when his pencil had moved almost by itself over his notepad, the world surrounding him today seemed tired—spent.

He'd been pushing himself so hard, forced himself to be single-minded in his pursuit of what his company and employees needed. It wasn't easy to balance that against being true to what his father would have wanted. His eyes closed and he leaned his head back, trying to take in the sounds of the city, to hear something that reminded him that the world was still moving around him.

Instead, once his eyes were closed, it wasn't his auditory sense that awakened, but his olfactory sense. He breathed in the air, overcome with the unmistakable aroma of hot dogs turning on a greasy, overheated rotary grill. Standing up before he could rethink it, he let his feet follow the smell, joining the short queue to the side of a hot dog cart.

When it was his turn, he ordered every stomach-destroying topping he could think of, his mouth beginning to water as he watched the vendor putting it together.

"Three-fifty," the man said, laying the dog on a flat piece of foil and holding his hand out for the money.

Fitz reached to his back pocket, his eyes widening when he realized he'd thrown his wallet into the locked drawer on his desk when it had annoyed him earlier.

"Sorry," Fitz said, holding his hands up. "I left my wallet in my office. I don't have any cash on—"

"You're stiffin' me?" the vendor growled, sticking out his chest in a fairly alarming manner.

"There's a line behind me," Fitz said, holding his hands up. "There must be someone here who would buy this. No one's touched it but you."

"Perhaps I can help?"

The voice came from behind him, and though he recognized it right away, he hoped against hope he was wrong. His shoulders dropped when he turned and saw her, Jemma Simmons, leaning out of the queue about five people behind him with some money in her hand.

"I'm fine, thank you," Fitz told her, earning him a grumble from the man behind him. "I could get out of the way if someone happened to want the same toppings I ordered. It's onions, green peppers—" Fitz broke off as the half-dozen people in the queue, other than Jemma, all began to tell him off at once.

"Fitz, don't be ridiculous. Take the four dollars." Jemma shook the four bills at him again, and he squeezed his eyes shut in pain. He didn't really see another way out of this without possibly getting strangled by an irate street food vendor.

"Listen, girlie," the hot dog man began, "get your ass up here and order your stuff, and I'll clear you both out of here so you stop holding up my line." When the man behind Fitz started to complain about Jemma being allowed to skip ahead, he was silenced by a particularly scary look from the vendor, and everyone else followed suit.

"I—all right," Jemma said, taking a wary step forward. She ordered quickly, two dogs with relatively simple toppings, and she shoved the money at the man when he was done.

They both hurried away, locked in an odd alliance to get away from the annoyed crowd as quickly as possible. It wasn't until they were further down the street that it seemed to occur to them how awkward this situation was.

"Well." She stood, balancing the food on top of her Oxford Journal of Biochemistry as she squared her shoulders. Her features arranged themselves into a neutral, detached expression. "I trust you're all right, now?"

"I'll pay you back," he offered. "If you can walk back to the office with me, I can run up and—"

"So your friend can get more footage of me spying on TRC for her blog?" Jemma asked, her voice icy. "Or perhaps you'd like me to walk me back to Simmtech, so you can get some video of the protesters calling me a bunny killer?"

"The blog post wasn't my idea," he said, feeling like a coward. It hadn't been his idea, but he'd certainly signed off on it. 

"She put it up without asking you, and she's ignored your requests to take it down? Ah, I thought not." She nodded as he winced. He somehow knew she was going to call him on his bullshit, the way he'd thrown Daisy under the bus for the blog post.

"None of it was an outright lie," he began, stopping when she loudly scoffed at him. "But it was a lie by omission, certainly. I'd ask her to take it down now, but I'm sure the damage has already been done."

"Why would you—" she said, stopping herself with a shaking hand over her mouth, her eyes shut in pain, and he'd rarely felt worse in his life.

"I listened to some bad advice at a really bad time. It's no excuse, Simmons, but it's a reason. I didn't see any alternative to influence the committee to go our way. Our application was as strong as I could make it, but I knew we'd lose out to you again."

"I don't appreciate Simmtech being blamed for your problems, Fitz. I've done nothing but pursue work and funding in the best interests of my own company, and I've never had to run a smear campaign on anyone to win anything."

"Can we..." he trailed off, knowing she had no reason to spend another moment talking to him, but he just couldn't leave things this way. "Can we find somewhere to sit, so we can talk without you having to balance that bloody pile of food?"

She looked hesitant. "I really should get back. These aren't for me."

"I didn't think you seemed like the hot-dogs-at-ten-am type." He smiled, despite his dark mood, and his stomach flipped a little when she smiled back.

With a raised eyebrow, she asked, "Walk me back to Simmtech so I can drop these off?" 

At his nod, she led him toward the sleek white exterior of her building as it rose into the sky a block and a half away. They weren't much closer when he could make out the rhythmic chanting of the protesters, making him wince again.

"They're still there? The animal rights—"

"You didn't see the news story? They intend to stay to the end of the week." She fixed him with a pointed look as they walked. "They're the reason I'm on a hot dog run. Bobbi, the woman captured on video talking about our animal testing practices? This is her usual Friday 'cheat day' lunch, and my head of security usually joins her. Neither of them can walk through the protesters without causing much more of a stir than it's worth, so I took it upon myself to slip past them and pick these up."

Fitz couldn't get himself to say anything for several long steps, he was so confused and conflicted about who or what he was fighting for anymore. "I'm honestly sorry about this. The whole thing."

There was more silence, then Jemma broke into it, her voice barely above a whisper. "I almost took us out of the running. I keep thinking...perhaps I should have." She paused, looking at the line of protesters she would have to cut through in a moment. "If you were desperate enough to do this..."

"What changed your mind?"

"Melinda May took me by the hand, walked me around the building. Reminded me I'd built the place from the ground up, starting with just three of us and making it into what it is today. We talked about the expansion, the new employees, and what they all need from me." She stole a look at him as they stood next to each other on the sidewalk, other pedestrians pathing around them. "It's how I can— _almost_ —understand why you'd let that blog post be published. I imagine you feel the same way, walking around TRC."

"I do, but it doesn't justify—"

"Fitz..." she turned fully toward him, waiting for him to turn as well before she continued. "Why don't you publish more? Pursue more contracts? License more tech? That electronics teaching tool you showed me at your Maker's Faire is such a great idea. You could mass produce it, sell it to school systems. It would help students visualize those electronics concepts so much more easily than they can currently. And that's just one thing. I know you're brilliant. You must have hundreds of ideas hidden away."

"I have reason to be careful." He sighed, unable to believe he was having this argument again, but this time, with his biggest competitor. "Once you release something, you lose control over what it's used for. We're very selective, and it's by design. It's the core tenet of the business, responsibility in the scientific advancements we're responsible for."

"There's such a thing as being too careful, Fitz, and of trying to prevent things that are out of our hands. Scientific advancement can't be arrested because the human race is flawed. You shouldn't let something truly wonderful disappear because you can't see that." She squeezed her eyes shut, as though she'd said more than she'd meant to, and Fitz had no idea how to respond. "I—perhaps we should speak another time, Fitz. I really should get back to the project I was working on," she said, trying to smile, "before I became a hot dog delivery person."

"Yeah. Of course," he stammered, feeling slow and dull-witted, trying again to think of some sort of response above the level of a grunt.

"Just...could you hold this for a moment?" She thrust the journal and hot dogs into his free hand before he could say anything, and she pulled the hood of her jacket up, twisting her scarf around her neck until it obscured everything but her eyes. "Thanks," she said, taking her things back, her voice muffled behind the fabric.

"You have to hide to get back through the—?" he asked, pointing at the people lining her sidewalk, brandishing picket signs and yelling, groaning when she nodded. "I'm really sorry for this, Simmons."

She shrugged, as if to say, 'it is what it is' and turned around, taking the fastest way through the crowd to her front entrance. He felt awful, watching her get screamed at and nearly hit with one of the picketer's signs, before she could go back to work, knowing it was all his fault.

* * *

`To: stargazer@founders-faction`  
`From: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`

`Ah, I know I've been rather silent. I'm sorry things have been crazy for you at work, but I can commiserate. Work has been an absolute monster for me, as well.`

`I really should have said something when you asked...well, you know. You really don't have to apologize. I'm sure you're right about not rushing things, and I wouldn't want to take your attention from your job if that's where it should be right now. I hope you're well.`

`And that you don't miss the warblers too much.`


	8. Chapter 8

Jemma looked briefly at the elevator, deciding on the stairs instead. She felt so odd after bumping into Fitz, confused and a little sad in ways she couldn't quite put her finger on. She needed some time, some movement, to help her shake it off.

The hallway was oddly loud, muffled voices and—was that cheering?—audible through the access door for the stairwell. After getting to the top, she rounded the corner into her office, taking another step back as Bobbi popped a celebration cracker, spewing a little arc of confetti and tiny streamers between them.

Jemma looked around and realized Bobbi wasn't alone in her office, but Hunter (wearing a party hat at a jaunty angle on his head) and May were also there, both of them popping their own crackers, littering the floor with bits of paper.

"What on earth—" Jemma began, and Hunter came forward to take the journal from her, nearly dumping the hot dogs on the ground before he abandoned the whole pile unceremoniously on her desk.

"We got it, Jemma." May tossed the remnants of her cracker into the trash, then picked up a bottle of champagne, freeing the cork with a loud crack as the three of them laughed.

"We've got...what? Collective hysteria?" Jemma asked, a glass of champagne being pressed into her hand.

"The Orion Foundation grant. I just got the call. It's ours," May explained, then downed her glass in one long gulp.

"You did it, poppet!" Hunter gleefully held out his glass, toasting Jemma, before he emptied his as well.

"All the weird allegations and misguided protesters in the world aren't enough to stop us," Bobbi added as they all got refills, clinking plastic glasses with Hunter before they linked arms, throwing back another gulp in sync with each other.

"I...yes. It's wonderful." Jemma managed a smile, but she knew when she saw her friends trading puzzled looks that she hadn't quite pulled it off. "No, really. It's very good news. I just wasn't expecting to hear back so quickly."

"Ah, about that." May laid her hand gently on Jemma's shoulder. "The foundation asked for an updated project plan, so they can include information about the work their grant will be funding in their press release. Do you think—"

"I'll take care of that," Bobbi cut in. "I know the proposal backward and forward. Jemma, I know you're the boss, but can you let us push you out of here for an early start to your weekend? You've been working so hard. Get out of here and enjoy some sunlight, for once."

"No, I really should..." Jemma stopped there, realizing she'd probably be too preoccupied to get anything of substance done for the rest of the day. "Actually, you're right. I should take your advice. You're certain you can get the information Orion needs from us before close of business?"

"Yes." Bobbi pulled Jemma's coat closed again, turning her around by the shoulders before plucking the barely-touched champagne out of her hands. "Go! Before you change your mind."

Jemma was back outside the building, the yelling of the protesters waking her up and causing her to move as quickly as possible through the crowd. She wasn't sure where she was going until she found herself in front of the TRC building a block away, looking up at it, trying to picture everyone inside.

There probably weren't a lot of crackers being opened there today, littering confetti on the ground next to errant drops of champagne as it was hastily poured into plastic glasses. She wondered if Fitz and Coulson had heard, if the foundation, or even May, would call to let them know.

With no way to do anything about it, she pulled up her scarf against the cold, slipped her hands into her pockets, and walked the rest of the way back to her apartment.

* * *

Fitz slammed the apartment door behind him, wincing as the walls actually shook, the noise too loud when all he wanted was to disappear. It was all still ringing in his ears, everything that had happened when he'd returned to TRC after bumping into Jemma Simmons, and he needed to find some way to sort it all out.

"You're home early, Fitz! You want to go out, get some..." Daisy stopped when she rounded the corner and saw him there. He couldn't imagine what he looked like, but judging by the look on Daisy's face, he had to guess he must be pretty transparent.

"I need you, please, to take down every blog post you've made that mentions Simmtech. I'll think more about it later, maybe I'll want to write something for you to post, an apology or something. I don't know."

She grabbed him by the shoulder and he looked at her hand, feeling slow, and like he just wanted to escape. "Fitz, tell me what happened."

"I will," he promised, pulling out of her grasp. "Just...not now. I need to..." He gestured toward his room and she moved out of the way, letting him by.

He shut the door to his room behind him, more careful this time not to lose control. Slumping onto the edge of his bed, he sat, head in his hands, trying to sort out his thoughts. He'd rarely had a day this disappointing, complicated, and confusing in his entire life, and he still wasn't sure what to do about any of it.

Flopping backwards, he squeezed his eyes shut. A crystal-clear mental image appeared of Mack and Coulson, as they'd waited for him in his office, teaming up to give Fitz the news he'd somehow already been anticipating.

* * *

Coulson had heard it from May, and Mack from Elena—both of them receiving calls just minutes after the Orion board's decision had been made. Simmtech, of course, had won the grant, and TRC's last chance to stay in operation was now gone.

Fitz accepted Mack's gentle hug, the grave look on his face making the whole thing seem more devastatingly real. He barely registered when Coulson asked Mack to let them have the room, that he and Fitz had a few things to discuss alone, and Fitz only really woke up when Mack closed the door as he left.

"So," Fitz began, finding it difficult to speak. "That's it then." He hadn't expected to find it this hard to accept, especially as some part of him had known it was coming all along. "Did they happen to say what the deciding factor was?"

Coulson's mouth was set in a hard line, exasperation mapped onto his face. "I assume you knew what Daisy was up to...those blog posts? When the board checked into the charges and found them all either unfounded or nebulous at best, it swung the whole thing their way."

"Some of them weren't unfounded," Fitz argued, half-heartedly, knowing Coulson and the board had been right. He should never have encouraged Daisy to make those posts. "Jemma Simmons really did come to the Maker's Faire, and spent time with several of us without divulging who she was."

"You sent me the video, Fitz, and I recognized her myself. As soon as I saw her, I called Melinda, who told me exactly what happened. Her visit to the fair was legitimate, made to help Melinda's stepson, and she only kept her identity a secret to avoid causing a stir. I didn't bring it up with you because I believe what Melinda told me. I wish you'd asked me about it, Fitz. You know these TRC/Simmtech issues get worked out between Melinda and myself."

"It doesn't much matter." Fitz shrugged. "Obviously I can see now it wasn't a good idea, and egging Daisy on just torpedoed our chances. So. It's all over."

"Don't jump to conclusions. I can see it. You're already making decisions, figuring out what happens next." Coulson held out his hands, the calming gesture just annoying Fitz more. "Just...hear me out."

"There's not much to say. We don't have enough capital to get through the next few months, and if we're to close without leaving our employees empty-handed—"

"We don't have to close, Fitz."

"We've been through this a hundred times before and you know what my answer's going to be." Fitz squared his shoulders, facing Coulson and looking him directly in the eye. "Let's talk about how we should do this. Is there enough left in the bank to offer a decent severance? Maybe contract a job placement service, see if we can help everyone with their job search before we have to close the doors."

"You aren't listening to me." Coulson had raised his voice, an event striking in and of itself because of the sheer rarity of it. Fitz was determined, though, and he wouldn't be swayed.

"I can't make the changes you want me to make. You know why I started this place, why my father would have wanted me to make sure—"

"Your father didn't have all the data." He produced a file from his bag, various stamps on its surface, but most prominently, a new-looking, red, 'Declassified' covering the others. Coulson handed it to him and Fitz took it, holding it as though it was about to explode, his fingers barely closing around it as he balanced it in his hands.

"What's this?"

"I want you to see what I was never able to get clearance to show your father."

Fitz looked down at the file, afraid to open it. He had to stall, anything to avoid facing whatever this was. "There's nothing that could be in here that could possibly change my mind."

"I think it could have changed your father's mind," Coulson said, his voice a strained rasp, and he wasn't able to look Fitz in the eye as he spoke. "I've regretted for almost twenty years that I didn't take the risk, violate my security clearance, and show this to your dad anyway. I would have been prosecuted under the Espionage Act if I'd been caught, but I still wish I'd done it."

"Then you shouldn't be showing it to me now." Fitz dropped the file on his desk, moving away as though it could infect him, somehow, if he got too close.

"It's declassified. I've been trying for years to get permission to show it to you. A good friend of mine who's still working for the government finally came through for me a few weeks ago. I've been holding it since then, trying to decide if I should ask you to read it. You seemed so dead-set on keeping things the same once this competition for the grant heated up, and I wasn't sure if giving it to you was the right thing to do."

"And now?"

"I'm still not sure it's the right thing to do," Coulson admitted. "But it's my only chance to convince you to listen to me, so I have to take it."

Coulson reached down, flipping the file open, and pulled out a few old, yellowed photographs. He went through them, handling them carefully, until he found one he held out to Fitz.

Fitz accepted it, taking in the details amidst the aging tints and water stains around the edges. There were five children in ratty clothing, several of them with scrapes and bruises, and all of them with distant, haunted looks in their eyes. In the middle, there was a woman with dark hair in a black uniform, kneeling and holding one of the children's faces in her hand. She was also injured, a deep gash on her forehead, her other arm bound in a sling.

"What is—who is this?" Fitz asked, handing the photo back.

"That's Melinda May, when we were on a strike team together twenty years ago. This is a mission report for a situation we were called in to stabilize."

"What does this have to do with my father?"

Coulson shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. "We got the call in the middle of the night. May was supposed to wait for the rest of us, but after she made sure we had another pilot, she skipped the briefing, slipped a plane past ground control, and went out there alone. As soon as she heard the leader of the drug cartel we'd been hunting down had taken five kids hostage in an abandoned factory, she couldn't wait through the prep time. She thought a single agent had a good chance to get in, incapacitate the target, and get the kids out."

"Why would she—"

"He gave us an ultimatum we couldn't meet, a deadline we'd never make, before he said he was going to start shooting the kids. We knew from the start we'd never make it in time, for at least one of them. Once May heard that..." Coulson shook his head. "I should have known she could never sit by and go through mission prep if it meant..." He sighed again, unable to finish the thought.

"This is Melinda May...who works for Simmtech?" Fitz looked at Coulson, really _looked_ at him, and realized he'd never understood what Coulson's life had been like before he left his job with the government. "What sort of work did the two of you—"

"There are lots of reasons we don't talk about it, Fitz," Coulson said, the ghost of a mirthless smile on his lips. "I could let you read the mission report, or I could just tell you, if you'll trust me." At Fitz's nod, he continued. "May got into the building. She almost took the objective, but one of the kids saw her and reacted, which gave away May's position. She was pinned down, took two bullets in the shoulder, and now our bad guy had another bargaining chip.

"We couldn't go in under any sort of cover, after that. May's heart was in the right place, but her attempt to end it on her own ruined any chance we had of taking him by surprise. Instead, I had to make a hard call. I had to put my people in danger, go in on what looked like a full offensive, while I made the decision to put some tech in the field that we hadn't even fully tested yet."

"My father's drone," Fitz said, everything becoming clear to him at once.

Coulson winced, backing away a little as though he assumed Fitz would be angry. "Experimental modifications had been made to weaponize it. They'd even gone through some testing, but no one knew what would happen if we used it in a real field operations. This is what it had been modified for, in the hopes it could protect field agents in situations just like this one. I made the call. The team would go in the front, draw the attention of our bad guy, and try to stay under cover. While we provided the distraction, another team sent in the drone from the rear of the building to take out the target and get us all out of there."

"It worked?"

"All hostages made it out alive. No agents lost. Three gunshot wounds, none of them critical. Everyone walked away, except for the brutal, serial-killer cartel leader who'd decided it was worth murdering a few kids if it got some of his terrorist buddies released from government holding cells."

Fitz's mind was reeling. He'd never looked at this any other way than what his father had told him—that they'd taken innocent tech designed to save lives and turned it into a weapon. It had disillusioned Fitz the same way it had his father, and Fitz had never questioned it.

Picking up the photo of May and the hostages again, though, thinking about how they all would have died that night without his father's work...he could understand why Coulson had made that decision, all those years ago.

"I wish I could have told your father, Fitz. I tried to convince him so many times that modifications to his work weren't necessarily unethical, that he might not have all the information, but I never really got through to him. There's nothing in my life I regret more than—"

"Treason, right?" Fitz asked, and at Coulson's look of confusion, he elaborated. "They would have prosecuted you for treason if you'd shown him this report, and you'd gotten caught?"

Coulson nodded. "In all probability. Yes."

"My father wouldn't have wanted that."

"I still wish I'd risked it. I think if he could have seen why teams like the one I headed that day need tools just as brutal as the people we fought against, he might have understood. Maybe it wouldn't have broken him the way it did."

"What are you trying to get me to do?" Fitz asked, feeling bone-tired in a way he hadn't even thought possible.

"Just...think about what we might be able to do if you considered some of the kinds of opportunities you've been turning down. I'm experienced at this. I've been out there, and I know what things look like from the trenches. If you can trust me, I can vet these contracts, and the business partners we don't even consider now."

"It's too late, though, isn't it?" Fitz asked, finding himself hopeful he was wrong. "We've already gone too far. I staked too much on the outcome of this grant application."

Coulson shook his head. "The Boeing contract. If we remove the stipulations on our side, they'll hand it over to us. It's enough to keep us afloat until we can investigate a few other options. I'm willing to join you in reducing my salary until we can get things stabilized, but you'll have to tell me you can trust me. I'll have to look into new opportunities for us, especially ways to license some of those designs you lock away in your bottom desk drawer."

Fitz drew in a shaky breath. Coulson's speech, the photos, they were very convincing. He still wasn't sure, though, and needed time to think it through. "You think that would be enough?"

"I've been running the numbers for weeks, Fitz. I think we can just make it."

"I..." Fitz stammered, "...this is a lot to take in."

"It is. Take the weekend, Fitz. Get out of here, think it over. Call me or Mack if you need to talk. But I'm hoping you'll decide you can trust me."

* * *

Fitz had wandered out of the building after that, bumping into people on the city streets and giving them murmured apologies. He'd somehow ended up back at the apartment, trying to think through what seemed like every decision he'd made his entire life.

He fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of his dad and the wires, tools, and the constant of grease under his fingernails that had marked his childhood. Those dreams turned to chaotic bursts of sounds and images of small, scared young girls who had his dad's work to thank for their lives,.

When he awoke, Fitz knew exactly what he needed to do.

* * *

He felt a little guilty, sitting down at the computer in his room before he explained his earlier behavior to Daisy, but he had so many thoughts teeming in his head and he needed to get them down before he lost the clarity he'd woken with.

The email practically composed itself, an invitation to all TRC employees to an all-hands meeting on Monday morning. He included some veiled reassurances that this wouldn't be the end of TRC, as he was sure most of them would have heard by now that the grant had been awarded to Simmtech. There would be changes, but all he could do was hope his people would be able to roll with them.

When the email was dealt with, he picked up his phone and opened Exiken, frowning when he realized it had been a little more than a day since he and stargazer had exchanged their last messages.

After he'd found himself too cowardly to commit to an in-person meeting with her, their messages to each other had slowed, their tone much less flirty as she'd seemed to pull back a bit. He couldn't blame her, as she'd taken quite a chance, only to have him fail to meet her halfway.

It was time he fixed that.

`To: stargazer@founders-faction`   
`From: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`

`Would you still like to meet? I can't stop thinking about what a terrible mistake I made, not jumping at the chance to get to know you in the real world. I seem to remember something about a cafe on 85th. Monday night? 8:00? I'll wear a blue shirt and sit facing the door so you'll know it's me.`

* * *

Her answer came almost immediately. Even though the idea of all this change made him uneasy, even a little sick with nerves, he raised his fist in celebration as he held his phone in a trembling hand, reading what she'd written back to him.

`To: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`   
`From: stargazer@founders-faction`

`Of course I'd still like to meet you. Monday night, 8:00. I'll look for the man in a blue shirt.`

* * *

On Monday morning, the staff gathered in their largest lab space. Fitz stood next to Coulson, Mack's calming presence behind him, and looked around, taking in the hopeful looks on most of their faces, and he was even more sure he was doing the right thing.

Fitz got through the first part of the speech without faltering too much, though Mack's hand on his shoulder when he referenced his father's work gave him the strength he needed to continue.

"That's where we are," Fitz told them, after laying out the situation with the Orion grant and the Boeing contract. "We have to make changes if we're going to survive—and we are _going_ to survive. That's what I've called you here to tell you. I've reduced my salary to one dollar until our profitability turns around."

"I've done the same," Coulson added, when Fitz glanced at him. "But you don't have to worry, because we're not asking any of you to take a salary cut at all."

"We're going to be open to lots of work we would have turned down before. Coulson's been working all weekend to shore up a few new opportunities for us, and we already have some interest in some of the tech we've created here that's been safeguarded away until now." Fitz looked over the crowd again, relieved to see most of them looking energized. "If you have ideas, take them to your supervisors, to Mack, to me...anyone you think can evaluate it. We're going to be much more open to those new ideas."

"A few of you might be wondering if there's going to be downsizing...layoffs," Coulson said. "I can put those questions to rest now. There will be _no layoffs_. But we know TRC's cash-flow issues haven't been a well-kept secret, and some of you may have been pursuing other positions, even if it was just to keep your options open."

Fitz picked up there from Coulson. "If anyone has been thinking about leaving, come and talk to us. We're willing to provide a buyout package, as losing some salary burden on the company will help us survive while we reorient ourselves. But none of you will be pressured to leave if it's not what you want."

"So, that's all for now, people. You're all free to go back to your projects, but our doors are open if there's anything you'd like to discuss." Coulson rubbed his hands together, falling into an almost immediate conversation with one of the young lab techs as most of the staff filtered out of the room, talking excitedly with each other about the new developments.

* * *

Sitting in his office later as he went over a few device designs he'd been keeping to himself, Fitz heard a tentative knock on the doorframe. Without even looking up, he invited the person in with a distracted wave of his hand, but he looked up when he heard the door close.

"Boss?" Billy Koenig stood there, fidgeting, his hands in determined fists at his sides. "Got a minute?"

"Yeah, of course." Fitz pushed the schematics away, giving him his full attention. Koenig stutter-stepped toward the guest chair, seeming to internally debate if he should sit or remain standing. After a moment, he straightened his back and held his head up, though his uncertainty still showed in the crinkles around his eyes.

"I didn't think I'd ever ask you this, but after what you said earlier...will the company really be stronger if you drop some salaries?"

Fitz sat up, realizing Koenig was the last person, other than Mack and Coulson, he'd thought would decide to leave TRC. "Well, yes. But that doesn't mean you should leave just to help the company."

"It's not...I mean, you know I've been loyal to TRC, and to you. To Coulson, especially, who got me out of government work after things with our organization went bad."

Fitz nodded. It seemed that any interruptions would just make this harder on Billy, who was already having trouble getting the words out.

"Well, there were rumors floating around...you know...that TRC wasn't doing too well. You know I'd stick with you all the way if it was just me, right? But my mom depends on the money I send her every month."

"Yeah, I know." Fitz nodded, more than a little affected at how torn Koenig seemed.

"I know Coulson arranged for a pretty generous salary for me, and there probably isn't enough work for three of us in the security department." He looked down, a bit sheepish. "There never really was, I don't think. You'd be fine if I left, right?"

"We'd miss you, Koenig, and I thought we were clear. No one _has_ to leave."

"But you said yourself...TRC has a better chance if you drop some salary, right?"

"Yeah," Fitz agreed, strangely choked up.

"When it looked like we might not make it, Coulson talked to Melinda May for me, put me in touch with a guy named Hunter. They have a job open in security at Simmtech, and they can match my current salary. I wasn't going to take it, but...my mom...you know?" Koenig shuffled his feet, unable to look up. "If I can help her and TRC at the same time..."

"As long as you give me a chance to hire you back, once we're solid again? And you let me buy you the best going away cake we've ever gotten anyone?"

"It's a deal, boss." Koenig finally looked up, relief painted all over him as Fitz stood up to shake his hand.

Fitz dropped, bonelessly, into his chair after Koenig left. It was odd that this had been the moment he'd realized it, but everything was about to change. Whether the changes for TRC were for the better or not, Fitz didn't like the feeling of uncertainty.

Glancing at the photo of his dad he kept on his desk, next to the one of his mum, he sighed. "I wish I know what you would have done, dad. If...if you'd known what I do. I've been sure of what I was doing all this time, trying to make your dreams a reality. Now that's gone...and I'm a bit adrift, I suppose."

He had to stop there, as one of his younger engineers working in their nanotechnology lab rapped on the doorframe. It was just the start of the new ideas and projects Fitz was flooded with after that morning's meetings, giving him little time to contemplate what was happening and how he should react.


	9. Chapter 9

Jemma had tried six different outfits, switching combinations depending on Bobbi's facial expressions. As she looked at the shirts, skirts, and trousers littered across her bedspread, she wondered (with a little thrill) if circuitbreaker was somewhere nearby, staring at every blue shirt he owned as he tried to make a similar decision.

"All right," she said, having trouble catching her breath to get the words out. "If I'm to arrive on time, I should leave now." Hunter and Bobbi were sitting in her living room, and when Hunter got a look at her, he let out a low wolf-whistle.

"Poor bloke doesn't have a chance." Hunter stood up, grinning. "He'll probably have to fire up his phone and send you more messages from across the table at the café. You'll have him speechless."

"Usually I'd be smacking him on the shoulder about now, but even I have to admit he's right," Bobbi said. "So, let's all get going."

"Oh." Jemma's brow furrowed. Were they trying to make this a double date? "I'll be fine on my own, really. There's no need—"

"Jemma, you have no idea who this guy is," Bobbi said, and Jemma rolled her eyes. 

"Honestly, the two of you are far too paranoid. We're meeting in a public place, and I can exercise common sense. If I think there's something off, I'm going to leave." Jemma snapped her bag shut, intending to brook no disagreement on this point. "You needn't worry about me, I promise."

"I agree." Bobbi walked to Jemma, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "He's probably exactly how he's represented himself to you, and we both hope you have a wonderful time tonight."

"But, on the chance—the very small chance—" Hunter added, "you need another set of eyes or two before you can make the call, we'll just stroll over there with you."

"I wouldn't mind this guy knowing your friends are aware of where you are and what you're doing," Bobbi added, a protective glint in her eyes. She was twirling her phone in her hand at hip level, a ridiculously deft movement that almost made it seem like a deadly weapon.

"I don't want to show up there with an entourage, putting him on the defensive and making him think I don't trust him enough to walk into a café he happens to be sitting in." Jemma crossed her arms over her chest, resolving to stand her ground on this one, no matter how well-meaning her friends were.

"Compromise?" Hunter asked, stepping between Bobbi and Jemma, as though he was trying to physically manifest himself as some sort of middle ground. "Jemma, I'll walk you over there, peek through the window when you go in, and I'll leave if you give me some sort of signal we can work out now."

Both Bobbi and Jemma started to protest at the same time, and Hunter held up his hands. 

"Wasn't finished yet. Just let me get to the end, yeah? Bobbi can wait for me down the street, at that Thai place you love so much, right, Bob?"

"So the two of you will be lurking nearby, assuming I'll need someone to rescue me?" Jemma knew she sounded a little childish, continuing to argue when she knew Bobbi and Hunter simply cared about her safety, and Hunter's plan wasn't as bad as it might have been.

"Why don't _you_ get us a table at the Thai place, Hunter, and _I'll_ go with Jemma?"

"Bob," Hunter began, taking his girlfriend by hand, "I'm much less likely than you are to storm into the place and interrogate the poor guy." Hunter knelt in front of her where she was sitting on the bed, looking concerned that Bobbi was angry, and reared backward a bit in surprise when Bobbi began to laugh.

"Well, I think I'll have to concede that one. Hunter will be a lot more hands-off than I'd be."

With a worried glance at her phone, Jemma quickly calculated how long the walk would take, and knew she'd run out of time to win this argument.

"Oh, come on. We need to leave now, or I'll be late." Jemma slipped her bag on her arm, tapping her foot at Hunter until he started to move.

Bobbi walked out with them, but stopped on the front steps of Jemma's building. "I'll give the two of you a head start, Jemma, so you know I won't run in there and interrogate your bird man."

"Bird man?" Hunter asked.

"It's a long story," Jemma said, pushing him forward as the excitement and anticipation began to feel more real. She was about to meet circuitbreaker.

* * *

By the time they reached the café, Jemma was fairly certain Hunter would voluntarily leap off a cliff rather than hear the words, 'Exiken', 'circuitbreaker', 'access point' or 'messages' ever again.

"I'm sorry, Hunter," Jemma said, with a giggle. Her hand flew to her lips as she realized how absolutely giddy she felt, silly in the best possible way. "You certainly had no idea what you were signing up for when you offered this compromise of coming with me on your own to the café."

"On the contrary, Jems," Hunter said, stealing a look at her, "I quite like seeing you this happy. Really hoping this one works out for you."

"Me too." Jemma squeezed his hand on impulse and he squeezed back, then he bumped into her shoulder like a bratty older brother. "We're almost there." She had to tell herself not to break into a run, not to scare this poor man off by bursting through the door with wild eyes, launching herself into the chair opposite him like some sort of lunatic.

"Not almost," Hunter corrected, just a half block later. "We're there."

Instead of wanting to run in, she was experiencing a full reversal of emotions. Fear was setting in, that she'd walk in and approach him only to see a look of disappointment, or that she'd sit down only to find that circuitbreaker was someone other than the person she'd been sure just a moment ago he had to be.

"This is Schrödinger's date." She doubled over, trying to catch her breath. Hunter bent at the waist, turning his head upside down to look at her.

"It's—what are you _on_ about?" 

Jemma straightened up, still hugging herself. "Schrödinger's cat is a thought experiment in quantum physics. You get a box, you put a cat and a radioactive material from which the cat has a 50% chance of suffering a lethal exposure to in the box, and then you wait. Once the radiation has been applied or not, most people would say the cat is either alive or dead."

"Well, yeah." Hunter was as confused as she'd ever seen him, but Jemma's mind was still racing as she struggled to make him understand.

"Quantum physics says, before the box is opened and the results are observed, the cat is actually half dead and half alive. It's a way to understand superposition—"

"Love, why are we standing out here," Hunter said, pointing at the ground between them, "while your date is waiting in there," he added, sweeping his arm toward the café, "and we're talking about dead cats?"

"As long as I stay out here, he could be anyone. We could be perfect together, or it could be a disaster. Every outcome is still on the table." She wrung her hands in front of herself. "The moment I walk in there..."

"...it'll be what it'll be." Hunter understood now, nodding gently at her. "Want me to take a peek in there? Let you know what you're in for?"

"Hunter!" Jemma poked him in the side and his hand flew to his waist, rubbing at the slot while he pouted at her. "I don't care what he looks like. I'm much more interested in the content of his character."

"How about I just verify he's here, and then push you in there to face the future if he is?"

Jemma considered his suggestion. It wasn't the worst idea. She couldn't imagine how it would feel to go through the door and look around, only to find there was no man in a blue shirt, facing toward the door. She nodded and Hunter rubbed his hands together, gleefully dancing his way closer to the large window to the side of the door.

"Oh, there's a great looking bloke in there. Strong chin, good posture." Hunter clicked his tongue. "But no blue shirt. Sorry."

Jemma tutted at him and he craned his neck, looking again.

"All right, so that's quite a coincidence. There's someone I recognize, but she's not who you're here to meet. But strange to see her here, when...wait..." Hunter's shoulders drooped before he turned back to Jemma. "Do you happen to find Leo Fitz attractive?"

"Leo Fitz— _TRC_ Leo Fitz?" She blushed, wondering if Hunter had noticed something at the reception, how there had been several odd moments between the two of them, when they hadn't been at each other's throats. "He's...perfectly symmetrical, I suppose. Hardly difficult to look at. But why..." She broke off as Hunter walked toward her, his hands outstretched, then landing on her forearms to steady her.

"Daisy Johnson is in there, at a table by herself in the corner. And in a blue shirt...facing the door..."

"No." She shook her head, feeling as though Schrödinger had just ripped the lid off the bloody box, and the cat was definitely dead. "No. Leo Fitz _cannot_ be circuitbreaker."

* * *

"Jemma...Jems..." Hunter repeated, as Jemma tried to calm her breathing. "He is."

"He works near here, Hunter. Perhaps it's just a coincidence. Are you sure there isn't—"

"There's four people inside that building right now. The woman behind the counter, Daisy Johnson, the man with the chin—in a black tank top, I should add—and Leo Fitz, who's wearing a blue shirt, watching the door like a lion's about to burst through it and attack him." Hunter ran his hands up her arms, bracing her by the shoulders. "I'm sorry. Leo Fitz is the only one in there fitting the description."

"Ah. Of course." She nodded, feeling numb. Looking down at the open Exiken app on her phone, she remembered how she'd planned to capture the nearby access point before walking in. It was already glowing blue, taken by circuitbreaker, of course, just over a half hour ago. He must have gotten here early, perhaps as excited to meet her as she'd been to meet him.

"What do you want to do?" Hunter nodded at her, clearly trying to get her to focus on making a decision. "Should we call Bobbi? She's got to be better at this sort of thing than I am."

Jemma shook her head, laughing a little despite herself. "Of course, the person I had so many hopes for, who I felt so connected to—it's someone who hates me."

"Are you sure? I mean, I know there's been some competition, but..." Hunter looked helpless, his forehead crinkling with the strain of trying to convince her this wasn't as disastrous as it seemed. "Hey, the two of you have quite a lot in common, actually! More than I'm sure you thought possible. Science nerds, the both of you. Running your own companies, working in the same neighborhood."

"Yes, we'll get along swimmingly. If only...wait, what would be problem be again?" She pretended to think. "Ah, that's right. My company put his out of business last week."

"Not necessarily. There are rumors they're reorganizing, trying to save the place. You should ask May about it. Or..." Hunter's face brightened. "Go in there and ask Fitz about it yourself."

Jemma was shaking her head before he even finished. "I...there's just no way I could do that. It would be the worst possible..." She trailed off, desperately needing to cry, but not wanting Hunter and Bobbi to worry about her. "Hunter, could you go and meet Bobbi? I'm just going to sit here for a moment, and then I'll go home."

"Come with me, Jemma. Bobbi'll never forgive me for leaving you on your own, you know."

She looked at him, earnest concern all over his face, and knew he was just as upset for her as Bobbi would be. "I'll be all right. I promise. A moment or two alone to catch my breath, and then I'll be fine. It's still early, perfectly safe to head home on my own." At Hunter's continued hesitance, she added, "If Bobbi is angry with you, have her call me, all right? I'll explain to her that I asked for this moment to myself."

He took a step or two away from her, stopping to add, "If you need anything, Jems, we're just a phone call away."

After he disappeared into the crowd, Jemma retreated to a nearby bench where she could still see the café. She finally let her control collapse, a sob escaping her as the first tears fell. No one had ever understood her as well as circuitbreaker. Though so much of what they'd discussed had been casual, nothing, really, it had all coalesced into _something_ , and she'd felt a true connection to him.

Knowing they had much more in common than she'd suspected just made it sting more. He surely understood how isolating her school years had been, always being younger, an outsider. He'd probably had to fight just as hard to be taken seriously, never really understanding the jokes or sharing enough with their classmates to make a true, lasting friend.

She hadn't just lost circuitbreaker, she realized. She'd lost the dream of someone like him, someone who understood her, someone who seemed to like her more as they found out more about her. It was all gone.

* * *

Fitz flinched when he felt Daisy's hand fall on his shoulder and he looked up, though he refused to turn around and face her. He knew what he'd see—sympathy that looked a little too much like pity, and he couldn't stomach it.

"Has she messaged you? Told you she'd be late?"

"No," he answered, his tone clipped. He held his phone up over his shoulder so she could see the screen, the greyed-out message icon giving him no more information now than it had for the last half hour.

"Maybe it's not updating? Quit the app and restart it."

He shrugged. "It's never failed to update before. Can't blame this on bad programming. I'm just getting stood..." He stopped there, the breath whooshing out of him. He couldn't say the rest out loud.

"You want to wait a little longer? My laptop's running out of juice, but I brought a book as a backup. I don't mind staying with you, in case she got held up on the subway or something."

"I don't think she was taking the subway, and she's never struck me as the type to be late." He took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and forced himself to say it. "She isn't coming."

"Fitz...I'm so sorry." He traced his finger along the top edge of his teacup, wincing at how depressing he found her sympathy. "Want to head home?"

He looked around, and even though he was sure stargazer wasn't coming, he couldn't quite make himself leave yet. "If I stay, will you be okay walking home?"

"Yeah, of course. It's just a couple of blocks, crowded streets, lots of street lights. I'll be fine, I'm not worried about me." Her hand rubbed his shoulder, a calming gesture, but it was just making him feel worse. "I'm worried about you here on your own, feeling sad while this stargazer person makes the biggest mistake of her life, missing out on meeting you."

The sincerity in her voice finally got him to turn around, and she ruffled his hair affectionately. "It's all right, Daisy. I need a bit more time on my own to wallow in it, and then I'll be along home. I'll be fine. I promise."

"You're sure?" She moved to stuff her laptop into her bag, still looking hesitant. "You just need some alone time?" At his nod, she looped the strap of her messenger bag across her body, shifting her weight for a moment before she started toward the door. "One text, Fitz, and I can come back, all right?"

"All right, Daisy." She was about to leave before he called out her name. "Thanks."

She nodded, and then was gone, the stupid bells attached to the door tinkling to remind him he was on his own.

* * *

Just as Jemma was about to gather herself up and head back to her apartment, she saw Daisy coming out of the café. Pulling the hood of her jacket more closely around herself to hide her face, she peeked up, waiting to get a glimpse of Fitz, but Daisy continued down the street on her own.

Jemma was sure Fitz hadn't come out as she'd been sitting on this bench, and if Daisy had left, he was now by himself. She glanced at her watch, her breath catching at the time. Fitz's date was now almost 45 minutes late and he was inside, probably feeling terrible.

She wondered if he was still hoping his perfect woman would breeze in, full of believable, forgivable excuses, and his entire life would change. He'd fall in love...more in love than they might already be...and that dream was keeping him in his chair, watching the door, his heart sinking more with each passing minute.

She'd gotten to her feet without noticing, wiping the last of the tears away with the side of her hand. Perhaps it was time to go home, to take the stupid bloody game off her phone and try to forget any of this had ever happened.

When she was halfway across the street, she realized she wasn't walking toward her apartment. Her feet were carrying her into the café, and though she had no idea what she'd do when she got there, she knew she couldn't leave here without seeing him.

Her hand, suddenly clammy with nerves, slipped a little on the door handle as she pulled it open. When she stepped inside, she still hadn't decided if she was there as Jemma Simmons of Simmtech or stargazer from Exiken. 

Fitz looked up immediately when she came in, the shock evident in his features as he made no attempt to hide his surprise. He looked down, toying with his cup, and she wondered if he was hoping she would somehow fail to notice him there. Disappointment warred with relief—she was happy he was still anticipating a meeting with stargazer, but it certainly stung to see how let down...maybe even unhappy...he was to see Jemma Simmons walk in.

Pretending to look up at the menu board, she watched him out of the corner of his eye. He fidgeted in the chair, his eyes darting to the door, and she wondered if he would try to slip out without her seeing him.

She hadn't gathered the courage to come in only to let him avoid her. It was time to do something, even if she wasn't quite sure yet what that would be.

"Fitz!" She waved, pretending she'd only just noticed him. Leaving the counter with a quick, "Sorry, I'll be back in a moment," just as the barista was asking her what she'd like, she took a deep breath and dropped into the empty chair opposite Fitz.

"I—" he began, frowning a little as he struggled to respond to her sudden appearance. "Sorry, it's just...I'm expecting someone."

Jemma let her eyebrows go up, trying to sell a modest look of surprise. "Ah. A date. Rather late in the evening for a date, isn't it?" She tested the side of the teapot sitting between them with the side of her hand. "This is stone cold, Fitz." Removing the lid to peer inside, she took a deep sniff, moaning a little in delight as she smelled her favorite blend of tea. If she hadn't been so nervous, she would have been touched he'd remembered.

"She's a bit late," he said, and the flash of pain in his eyes almost made her tear out her phone and show him her Exiken app. She wondered if she'd be able to explain, if he'd be able to take it in after he'd certainly had a very difficult week to begin with.

"I'm sure she won't mind if I keep you company until she arrives. Don't worry, Fitz. After you tell her about TRC and Simmtech, she'll know there's no way we were here together. She'll probably assume you hate me."

"Simmons—" he began, but she cut him off there, too afraid of what he'd say.

"I know this is the wrong time, but I don't know when or where else you'll hear me out." She plowed ahead, even though his eyes were begging her to stop. "I know it must have been a terrible blow to lose the grant—"

"Don't really want to talk about it," he said, folding his arms over his chest.

"Yes," she whispered, blinking away her hurt at the way he'd just closed off. She'd hoped their discussion last Friday afternoon would have put them on more solid footing than this, but then again, the grant had still been undecided then. "I suppose not. Or at least, not with me."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and Jemma was about to excuse herself and just leave, uncertain what she'd thought she would accomplish by coming in here, when Fitz spoke again.

"TRC's going to be fine, you know. We have a plan now."

"I'm relieved to hear that."

His expression was semi-incredulous. "Are you? I would have thought you'd be happy to get rid of the closest thing you have to competition."

"TRC does good work, Fitz. I've seen it myself. When I pursued the grant, it wasn't to put TRC out of business. You seem to be laboring under the misapprehension I wanted the grant just to spite you. Simmtech has important, life-changing projects we're going to fund with that money, an expansion and several salaries for new positions which will be fully-funded, thanks to the Orion Foundation."

"If you think my company's so useless," he began, his voice raising as he sat up straighter, "it's odd you had no reservations about bringing your 'nephew' there to help him figure out what he's going to do with his life. It'd be a shame if more events like that got funding when you could use the money for research into a drug to make our eyelashes thicker."

Her breath caught at that, and it took her a moment to compose herself for an answer. "The grant money will actually be used for research project devoted to several conditions which cause progressive dementia, like Alzheimer's and Lewy Body Dementia. If you were hoping for thicker eyelashes, I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere." 

He looked a bit shamed at that, but she wasn't finished.

"I've never been anything but openly impressed at the work TRC does in the community, by the way. You have no reason to—"

Fitz's sharp, mirthless laugh interrupted her. "We invited Simmtech to participate in the Maker's Faires dozens of times, and you did nothing but turn us down."

"It was at Melinda May's urging that we declined. Phil Coulson asked her if we'd stay on the sidelines to ensure TRC would maintain their position as its largest sponsor. I..." She looked down at her hands, folded on the table, and knew she should never have walked in here. "I assumed he'd have told you."

"I suppose I should be grateful Simmtech sat out of something?" He was staring at the cold teapot and the empty second cup. His disappointment and frustration with the evening and with the rumored changes to TRC were written all over him, and as his forearms tensed, still crossed over his chest. She could sense it was all about to be directed at her. "You haven't been 'openly' anything. The first thing you did when we met was lie to me about who you were."

"A lie of omission, perhaps, and I'm sorry about that. Yes, I should have introduced myself—but what sort of chilly reception do you think I had to look forward to if I did?" Before he could answer, she changed the subject. "You and your friend Daisy know quite a lot about lies of omission, don't you? Insinuating Simmtech is guilty of corporate espionage...that we're a large-scale proponent of animal testing, when you absolutely know why I was at your Maker's Faire, and that Simmtech is _leading_ the biotech industry in the elimination of animal testing?"

"What are you doing here, Simmons?" He looked defeated, and she thought back to everything circuitbreaker had ever written to her—his doubts, his sense of humor, his fears, the amazing ways his mind worked—and she wondered how the universe could be so cruel. She could see where those pieces fit into Fitz, around the rivalry and mistrust that seemed to dominate their real world interactions, and she wished, more than she'd wished for anything else in her life, that things could be different. She'd thought it could be possible, especially after the fairly civil conversation they'd had the last time they'd run into each other. She just couldn't believe it was going so wrong this time.

"This," she whispered, her voice breaking, "is my favorite café."

"Haven't you won enough? You won the grant and now I have to turn my company inside-out to keep it afloat. Do you really have to stay here and watch me get stood up, too?" The words were angry, but there was no fire in his voice, just resignation.

"I know you won't believe this, Fitz, but I can't imagine why she would make a mistake like this, missing a date with you." She hoped she could will the antagonism between them away, just make it disappear by wanting it badly enough and acting as though it were already gone. More than anything, she longed for them to be able to start again.

As much as she'd meant it as an olive branch, his reaction to it was completely the opposite. "I'm sure she has a good reason," Fitz began, and the anger missing from his voice before was now flaring to life. "The person I'm meeting here tonight is kind, and compassionate...and caring." His eyes met hers and she went cold. "Those are three things you know nothing about, because all you care about is winning."

She froze, unable to hide how hurt she was. The one person she'd thought might truly understand her...and he was just another person who believed she was cutthroat. "That...appears to be my cue to leave." Jemma pushed her chair back, standing up on unstable legs, and tried to make herself start moving.

His hand covered hers before she could pull it away from the table and she gasped, turning around to find remorse in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have said—"

"Don't," she said, cutting him off before he could explain. She feared his apology would make clear he really did feel that way about her, but simply regretted admitting it out loud. She couldn't bear to hear it. So many people in her life had seen her exactly as Fitz had described—cold, selfish, and competitive. 

Whatever else they'd been to each other, circuitbreaker had been one of the few people who'd noticed she excelled at something and seemed drawn to her because of it, rather than repulsed.

It all seemed like a lie to her now. One that was breaking her heart.

* * *

It had been a week since he'd last heard from stargazer. She'd never messaged him after the night she hadn't appeared at the café, but worse than that, she'd simply disappeared. She hadn't captured a single access point, and she hadn't logged into her Skype account.

His focus really should be on TRC, helping Coulson revolutionize the way they evaluated proposals and pursued contracts and business partnerships. Fitz could never have anticipated how grateful he'd be to have such a huge project on his plate to distract him. It was the only thing keeping him focused and productive.

Other than the messages still saved in his Exiken in-box, it was as though she'd never existed. He'd dreaded finding out why she'd chosen not to meet him, but after a week of silence, he'd welcome any message from her at all, even if it was troubling news.

So many times, he'd almost asked Daisy to hack the Exiken server to get stargazer's real name, just to make sure nothing had happened to her. The idea that she'd been hurt somehow, that she could have been in an accident and was lying in a hospital bed somewhere, had become a worrisome, intrusive thought that was becoming harder and harder to brush off.

In the end, he couldn't quite make himself ask Daisy for another favor, not after their attempts to win the grant for TRC had been such a disaster. It just seemed like inviting more trouble and not learning from the terrible mistakes they'd made, using her blog to run a smear campaign against Simmtech. 

There was only one thing he could think to do. He'd talk to her for what might be the last time, make sure the lines of communication were open, and hope she re-appeared.

`To: stargazer@founders-faction`  
`From: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`

`I've tried to start this message a hundred times, and I have no idea what to say. I don't know if perhaps you didn't feel safe meeting me, or, I don't know...maybe there's something else that kept you from the cafe last Monday. I hope you're all right...safe. I really wish I knew.`

`Whatever it is, I wish you didn't feel that way. There's nothing I could learn about you once we meet that would change my mind about you. If there's anything I can say, please tell me. If you'd like to go back to sending messages, we can take the meeting off the table.`

`I just...miss you.`

`If you ever want to talk again, I'm still watching for a message from you.`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am (unfortunately) under the outer bands of Hurricane Matthew as I post this chapter. We’re pretty far inland, but the wind gusts could go up to 75 mph very soon. I’m hoping our house (sturdy brick with a new-ish roof) will hold up just fine, but the power lines might be a different story.
> 
> I may be offline for awhile if we have a protracted loss of electricity. Updates/replies here and on Tumblr may be sporadic at best until the situation resolves itself.
> 
> Please think good thoughts for Haiti (already hit) and Bermuda (hit overnight), as well as the people on the southern eastern seaboard of the US who are battening down and hoping for the best right now. 
> 
> See you all later.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've weathered Hurricane Matthew and everyone is all right. The damage has been very minor and I'm thankful. I really appreciate the well-wishes, thanks.
> 
> I'll be posting the final chapters once a day, now, until the story is done. I hope you enjoy.

Jemma stretched out in her bed, unable to actually sleep in on this rare Saturday morning when her schedule could have accommodated it. She wanted to attribute her restlessness to work, to the expansion, or to the new projects Bobbi and her team would begin on Monday, but if she were honest, none of those were the reason she was already awake.

Instead, it was 6:00 A.M., her phone was in her hand, and she was reading through old Exiken messages, biting her already worried-at lips as she tried not to cry. She'd hoped the sadness would begin to dissipate by now, that perhaps it would still sting, but not actually ache.

She couldn't let go of the idea she'd been so wrong about him in every way. Was it possible Fitz wasn't the circuitbreaker who truly seemed to understand and genuinely like her? This Orion grant fiasco had shown that her rival at TRC wasn't exactly what she'd anticipated he'd be, either. She couldn't reconcile any of it. It seemed impossible to understand who Fitz was among the hurtful blog posts, the messages that had won her heart, or the man whose convictions were so strong, they'd nearly sunk the company he was so desperate to keep afloat.

Certainly she, herself, wasn't exactly who stargazer had come to be, either. It would have been impossible, considering how much of herself she'd had to hide to keep her identity private. She also wasn't the cruel, heartless person Fitz had accused her of being in her professional life—or at least, she couldn't accept that she was. 

She wasn't exactly stargazer and he wasn't exactly circuitbreaker, but their messages had felt too real to be lies. Jemma wasn't a heartless, cutthroat competitor who would do anything to win, and she suspected Fitz wasn't a person who would normally approve of slanderous blog posts. The truth—for both of them, she suspected—lived in the spaces between.

She didn't know if she'd ever be able to reveal to him what she knew, that she'd seen him in that café because she was stargazer and she'd gone there to meet him. She knew how difficult she found the work of reconciling what she knew of Fitz with what she knew of circuitbreaker, and she wasn't sure he had anything to gain from learning the truth. 

If that had been the end of her feelings on the matter, she might have been able to let go, leave this all in the past. But their correspondence, when they'd both been ignorant of the other's identity, proved how well they could have gotten along, had things been different. If they'd met in a different time or place, under other circumstances, their skillsets and abilities would have made them a great working team.

Simmtech had been forced, in the past, to pass on contracts which required more sophisticated engineering work than they were capable of in-house. She imagined TRC might have been in a similar position more than once, being approached about work that depended on a discipline where they were lacking. It went without saying, really, if the two companies could find a way to work together, both of them would be stronger.

She rolled to her side, curling up as she considered the problem. For all their posturing and suspicion of each other, they'd had several civil conversations. Shutting her eyes, she tried to imagine a world where she could forgive him for his misinformation campaign against her, wondering if he could let go of the resentment that her company's success had forced him to change the way he did business.

Scrolling through their messages again, she found their conversation from weeks ago, when they'd decided to chat in real time on Skype, and realized it was the same evening the first blog posts about Simmtech appeared on Daisy's Rising Tide blog. She couldn't help it—she laughed, quietly at first, but then uncontrollably. Ironically, she had given him, at least in part, the inspiration to do everything he could to win, to show "no mercy".

When the last giggles died away, she actually felt lighter. It was all so absurd, and her decision to pretend none of their messages had ever happened felt painfully simplistic, a reflex reaction to feeling hurt and disappointed.

She had to figure out if she and Fitz could put this mess behind them. If they had a chance to get to know each other without the weight of the grant money or their competing companies pressing down on them, she wondered if they might be more like the stargazer and circuitbreaker who'd looked forward to arguing about tea preferences or sharing those silly, fleeting thoughts about their days with each other.

Pushing herself up and out of bed, she realized there was only one way she'd ever find out.

* * *

`To: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`  
`From: stargazer@founders-faction`

`I wish I could explain to you why I didn't come to meet you last Monday. I can't apologize enough, not only for that night, but for my silence and the confusion it must have caused you.`

`I'm truly, deeply sorry, and I regret more than I can express that you've worried about me. I feel terrible for that.`

`I can't explain what happened...not now, but I'm hoping I'll find the words for that soon. If you can forgive me, I would very much like for us to correspond again. Could we begin there, and see where that leads us?`

* * *

`To: stargazer@founders-faction`  
`From: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`

`Of course we can start over.`

`I can't really explain, but I'm doing quite a lot of beginning again, re-evaluating. Change doesn't always come easily to me, but I'm starting to see the merit in a fresh start.`

`I'm going somewhere today, somewhere I probably shouldn't go, but I can't seem to stop myself. Think a good thought for me, please, while I brave it?`

* * *

Fitz looked at himself in his full-length mirror, wondering if he'd done enough to obscure his identity. He'd swelter, even in this weather, in the bulky sweater under the hooded jacket he had on, but it was the only way he thought he might be able to slip into Simmtech's Open House event with a prayer of not being recognized.

The walk to her building took far too long, and yet, not long enough. His nerves made his hands shake at his sides, and he nearly turned around a dozen times. 

The Simmtech Open House was completely different from his Maker's Faire, with employees acting as tour guides at thirty minute intervals. Then again, he imagined the goals here were very different from his own, and that was his fault, at least in part.

Though the protesters no longer paced the sidewalk in front of the building and the blog posts had been taken down, Simmtech's image had taken quite a hit, especially in the scientific community. He'd never imagined scientists, who should be more bound to logic and hard proof, would believe the hearsay he and Daisy had thrown at Jemma and her company, but he'd been wrong.

Simmtech had been forced to embark on a public relations campaign to clean up their reputation, sending out press releases detailing their ongoing contributions to the scientific community and holding these Open House events to replace the gossip and misrepresentations he'd been largely responsible for.

He signed up for a tour as 'John Smith', hoping he could stay in the back and hide himself from anyone who might be able to recognize him through this disguise.

* * *

After receiving circuitbreaker's— _Fitz's_ —message that morning, Jemma had stationed herself in the background of the lab that was the third stop on the tour, grateful Bobbi had agreed to take on the responsibility of giving the welcome speech Jemma had planned for each group. 

She waited through group after group, pretending to work on a computer whose monitor was facing the wall, but she was typing gibberish as two of her project leads performed a demonstration of the Briggs-Rauscher reaction, talking about the 'oscillating clock' concept behind the reaction as they mixed the carefully-measured chemical compounds into a large beaker.

She searched the crowd as they all gasped when the color of the liquid in the beaker changed from clear, to amber, and then to dark blue, cycling over and over as the groups broke out into applause. 

Jemma had nearly given up hope when another group entered and she immediately spied Fitz hovering at the back, trying to put the tallest people in the group in front of himself. He was the only one not to react when the solution changed colors the first time, though their scattered applause seemed to jostle him into action and he brought his hands up, clapping awkwardly and out of time with the people around him.

When that group was led into the next area, Jemma took the back hallway, slipping through the rear entrance and into the shadows where she was hoping Fitz wouldn't see her. 

Fitz deferred an opportunity to swab his cheek cells for presentation on the large monitor they'd attached to a digital microscope, allowing a woman standing in the front to take his place as he slipped away to the next area. Jemma saw him stop in his tracks, pointed toward the activity Hunter's new employee, Billy Koenig, had set up.

Koenig was making and giving out Simmtech replica lanyards, just as Jemma knew he'd done for TRC at the last Maker's Faire. She winced, knowing that had to be difficult for Fitz to watch.

"Hey, boss!" Koenig said, pointing at Fitz. Fitz looked alarmed, holding his hands low and waving them as he shook his head, desperately trying to avoid being identified by anyone else. Fitz quickly closed the distance between them, his expression softening as he shook Koenig's hand. She could just overhear him asking Koenig if he was settling in, and if his mother was in good health.

Jemma couldn't watch any more of this, exiting through the same door she'd used to sneak in, nearly bumping into May in her rush to get away.

"Jemma, where are you—"

"Fitz is here," Jemma hissed, wincing as May peeked around the corner to see for herself.

"Do you think it's something we should be concerned about? I know he and his roommate were responsible for those blog posts, but I've spoken to Phil and I don't think he'd try to do anything to—"

"No, no. It's all right." Jemma pulled May away from the doorway. "I think he just needed to see who they'd lost the grant to, a way to help him get his mind around it."

May looked confused. "Have you been talking to him?"

After taking a moment to weigh how she could possibly answer that, Jemma settled on, "More than you'd think."

That earned her a raised eyebrow. "So you've heard about the changes at TRC, I take it?" At Jemma's nod, she added, "Do you think they can make it?"

"I don't know. I gather Fitz has been very set in his ways. And I know," she said, pausing for a moment as she looked down, because May would be troubled to hear her say it, "part of the issue for TRC is how to right themselves before they go under, and the grant money certainly would have helped." 

"Jemma, if they'd won the grant, these changes—changes Phil thinks they had to make to survive long-term—would never have been made. In all probability, losing the grant is the catalyst that will save TRC."

"Watching Fitz in there just now, talking to employees of ours who used to walk into his building every morning, it's difficult to appreciate that."

"There isn't a lot you can do about it." May put a strong, solid hand on Jemma's shoulder and Jemma closed her eyes, leaning into the support a little.

"Maybe there is."

"I don't understand. What are you—"

"We could look for opportunities to partner with them on contract bids."

"After what they said about Simmtech? Do you remember the protesters who were installed outside the front doors for a week?" May shook her head. "I'm still angry at Phil for letting it happen on his watch, and it wasn't even his fault."

"I'm not saying I condone what happened, just suggesting we put it behind us. Start over. We've had to let so many opportunities go because we're so focused on biochemistry and we simply didn't have the breadth of knowledge in other areas on staff to complete the work. Both companies would benefit."

May still looked skeptical, but she was clearly now giving the idea some real thought. "I could talk to Phil, but I couldn't promise anything. He's already stuck his neck out far enough just getting Fitz to listen to him about the changes they're making to become more profitable." May ducked her head, catching Jemma's eye. "You said you've been talking to Fitz...do you think you're in a position to float the idea to him?"

Thinking back to their meeting at the café, she remembered how raw and hurt he'd seemed, and how he'd taken it out on her despite himself.

"I don't think we're there yet," Jemma admitted, "but I think I know someone who could help."

If she couldn't get through to him as Jemma Simmons, perhaps he would listen to stargazer.

* * *

`To: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`  
`From: stargazer@founders-faction`

`You spoke about change in your last message, and I've found myself returning to that theme many times over the hours since.`

`If you asked any of my friends, they'd tell you I know exactly what I want from life, and that I've probably got a twenty step plan for achieving it. I have been, perhaps, quite single-minded, but reading about fresh starts and new beginnings has made me long for one of my own.`

`I've been chasing after the same thing for a long time, a pursuit that began when I was so young, I can't remember making the decision or wondering where it would take me. I'm happy doing what I do and I want to continue, but I need a change.`

`I need new challenges, a fresh perspective. I want to argue with someone, bicker over the forces that control the universe, debate about where to eat lunch. I need to be brave. I need to take chances.`

`You were my inspiration--helping me make this decision. You asked me to send you good thoughts, to lend you my strength to face a challenge you found difficult. I have to ask you for the same in return, and also, to keep pushing yourself. Don't give up. Keep venturing into uncertain territory, demand the strength to face a future that might be a bit frightening.`

`I can do this if I know you're out there, doing it too.`

* * *

`To: stargazer@founders-faction`  
`From: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`

`As much as the change surrounding me has become inevitable, the reasons behind it are the reverse of yours.`

`I've always known why I wanted to do this work, and I was convinced I knew where it would take me--where I'd allow it to take me. It wasn't until recently that I realized it was necessary for me to make decisions for my own reasons and not someone else's.`

`My life has been lived to honor the wishes of someone who isn't even here to witness it...my father. I can't even be certain what he would have done in my place, especially had he known what I know now and if he could see things from my perspective.`

`I'm going to take a huge chance here (you only have yourself to blame, as you were the one who urged me to 'venture into uncertain territory'.) I'm breaking our 'no specifics' rule. I want to tell you something about myself.`

`I'm a scientist. An engineer. My company...well, it's struggling a bit, and I'm sure none of that sounds particularly impressive. What's astonishing, though, is how invigorating all of this change--change I fought against for a long time--has been.`

`I've always loved pure research, but there are other, more direct ways for us to help make the world a better place. Ultimately, our work doesn't mean much if it never sees the light of day.`

`It's been a few weeks of really listening to my employees, being surprised and proud of the ideas they're bringing me. I'm going through my own work, looking for ideas I might be able to patent, or the beginnings of something that could become a published paper. I've already sent inquiries to the Journal of Aeronautics and Aerospace Engineering, which I probably wouldn't have done before all this change became necessary.`

`It occurs to me how much this sounds like bragging. (Perhaps it is, and I'm subconsciously trying to impress you?) I really...I may not have had the courage to take these steps, these last few weeks, without your encouragement. It's really all a thank you, and a reminder for you to keep trying for the changes you want to make.`

`And please forgive me for breaking our one big rule. Don't feel pressured to reciprocate. I just couldn't explain everything I wanted to thank you for without telling you more about who I am.`

* * *

"Got a minute?" 

Jemma looked up from her keyboard to find Hunter at her door, and she plastered a pleasant, neutral smile on her face.

"You're terrible at covering, you know that, don't you?" He came in, leaning against the wall next to the doorway. "I can tell Bob's already talked to you."

"She wouldn't tell me what's happened, just that she wasn't speaking to you." Jemma paused, uncertain if her constitution was strong enough to wade into the volatility that formed the core of Hunter and Bobbi's relationship.

"I imagine you might be as angry with me as she is, in a moment, given what I've come here to discuss with you." He was still slumped against the wall, trying to appear casual, but she could see the tension under the surface, the uncertainty in his eyes.

"Perhaps you should just tell me, and let me make my mind up on my own?"

"Daisy Johnson is coming here." He waited, and Jemma merely stared back, realizing this had to be the last thing she was expecting him to say. After a moment, he checked the time on his phone, shrugging. "Should be here any minute, actually."

"Are you _cheating on Bobbi_ with Daisy Johnson?"

"Of course not," Hunter said, offended. "Are you mad?" With a deep sigh, he pushed the door shut, then sat on the edge of Jemma's desk.

"Look, I contacted her after that last ridiculous blog post, trying to get her to take it down. She didn't listen to me, just said that she was doing what she had to do to help a friend." Jemma scoffed, but Hunter held up a hand to stop her. "She emailed me yesterday, after she'd spoken to Fitz and thought more about what they'd done. She wants to talk to you and Bobbi. To apologize."

Jemma was torn, wondering why she was so ready to start over with Fitz, but felt so much more reluctant about Daisy. Obviously, she didn't know Daisy as well as she'd come to know Fitz, but the words that had done so much damage had been Daisy's, and that felt much more personal. "I don't know, Hunter."

"Well, at least you aren't yelling at me."

"I take it Bobbi was rather angry at your suggestion?"

"She can't believe I'd talk to someone who caused us so many problems, much less try to advocate for her." He shrugged. "I just don't see the point in _not_ trying to clear the air."

"If the two of you could ever just listen to each other, you'd find a way to be happy."

"You think that hellbeast is the person who's supposed to bring me joy?" Hunter was trying to look affronted, but as ever, Jemma could see straight through him. He always became this strange mix of angry and heartbroken whenever they were on bad terms with each other, and this time was no different.

"Well, _someone_ should bring you joy. You deserve it. I think the two of you are perfect for each other, if you'd just get out of your own way."

"Have _you_ ever met someone who was perfect for you? Do you know any couple who fits that description? It doesn't even exist, Jemma." Hunter's phone buzzed and he looked down, huffing out a frustrated breath. "Daisy's downstairs. Can I sign her in?"

Jemma nodded and Hunter was gone a moment later, but she almost didn't notice, she was so lost in thought.

Yes. She had met someone like that, someone who might be perfect for her. And she wasn't going to let a little thing like being partially responsible for turning his life upside-down keep her from finding out if they would be good together in real life.

* * *

Hunter re-emerged a few minutes later, followed by a sheepish-looking Daisy carrying a bouquet of flowers in her arms.

"Should I leave you two...er..." Hunter stammered, and Jemma decided to put him out of his awkward, anxious misery.

"It's safe to leave us alone, Hunter. I think we can manage a civil conversation without a referee," Jemma said, waving him toward the door.

When he was gone, Daisy stepped forward, laying the flowers over Jemma's desk.

"It's cheesy, I know, but it's a bouquet of daisies. Daisies from Daisy...so, yeah." She winced. "Cheesy. I just wanted to say how sorry I am for everything on my blog about Simmtech, and I guess I thought if I brought you these, you couldn't help but be reminded of what I have to say, even if you decide to kick me out."

"Why don't you have a seat?" Jemma was oddly nervous, aware that Daisy must know Fitz quite well, perhaps even knew about stargazer. It put an odd filter over the situation, a strange lens to view things through.

Daisy took a deep breath, her shoulders coming up nearly to her ears before she relaxed again. "I just wanted to start with an unambiguous apology. I'm really, really sorry for the trouble the blog posts caused you, Bobbi, and for Simmtech in general. It's not much of an excuse, but I was desperate to help a friend, and I lost my perspective."

Jemma nodded, thinking it over. "I appreciate you having the courage to come here, and I can accept your apology personally, and on behalf of Simmtech." She managed a small smile at Daisy's obvious relief. "Bobbi, however, is another matter."

"I feel awful. Hunter made it sound like the two of them are fighting now, over this whole thing? That wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want any of this. I just saw Fitz sinking so low, and he's done so much for me. Writing those blog posts, it was the only way I could think of to help him. I thought Simmtech was something very different from what it turns out you are, and I know it was wrong to jump to conclusions that way." She paused, wringing her hands, her nervousness clearly still in full force. "You should know how reluctant Fitz was to agree to my plan. This wasn't like him at all."

"I believe you," Jemma said, thinking back to the bereft-sounding messages she'd gotten from circuitbreaker, and she could believe that Fitz had been desperate enough to grasp at straws.

"I didn't just come here with an apology." Daisy sat forward on the edge of her chair, nerves giving way to excitement. "Fitz talked to me about the work you're planning to do with the Orion grant money, the medical research. Something about a cure for dementia?"

Jemma tried not to show it, but a little thrill ran through her at the idea that Fitz had taken the information she'd thrown at him during their argument in the café and talked about it later with Daisy, and apparently found rather positive things to say. "Not precisely, but you're not too far off. We're investigating possible treatments for conditions which cause progressive dementia. Alzheimer's, and other conditions like it. A cure would be an ideal outcome, but short of that, we're hoping to make real progress in understanding the causes and easing the symptoms."

"I want to write about that. I want to make amends, help reverse the damage I've done. I can try to do it from the outside, but the posts would have a much bigger impact if you trusted me with a few interviews."

"I don't know..." Jemma trailed off, not sure what to say. As much as she believed Daisy's apology was sincere, giving her enough access to report on their work seemed like quite a risk.

"You'd have complete editorial control before the articles go up," Daisy offered. "We'll get a lawyer to draw up a contract, if you want, and you can sue me back to the stone age if I publish a single word you haven't approved. Listen..." Daisy said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Fitz really regrets what I talked him into letting me do. He's my friend, and I feel terrible about hurting him, too. This is the only way I can even try to make it up to all of you."

"If I were to ask you for a favor in return?"

Daisy cocked her head to the side, intrigued. "What kind of favor?"

"If this experience has taught me anything, it's that nothing good can come from this ridiculous rivalry. There's no real reason for hostility between TRC and Simmtech. There are projects—many, I'm sure—which we could take on if the two companies worked together."

"And you want my help, pitching the idea to Fitz?"

"Not directly, but if there's anything you can do to support the idea, should Fitz bring it up with you, I'd appreciate it. I think both companies would benefit from a partnership."

A genuine smile slowly bloomed over Daisy's face, and she leaned back in the chair, finally at ease. "Yeah," she nodded. "I think I can do that."

"Don't get too comfortable." Jemma said, standing up. "I'd like to take you to speak to Bobbi now. She'll give you a chance if I ask her to, as a personal favor."

Daisy had the good sense to look a bit worried again, but Jemma found she had no trouble reassuring her. All of a sudden, she had the strangest feeling that everything would be all right.


	11. Chapter 11

A few days later, Jemma and (a still somewhat reluctant) Bobbi were headed down to greet Daisy at the reception desk, about to show her their preparations to begin research for the progressive dementia study. 

When they came out of the elevator, Jemma could see from across the lobby that Daisy had an enormous bag at her feet and a laptop bag on her shoulder as she stood there, looking nervous and a little excited.

"What is she doing?" Bobbi whispered, leaning over to Jemma and not bothering to disguise the snark in her tone. "Is she planning to move in?"

Jemma shushed her and smiled at Daisy, who gave her a hesitant smile back.

"Is there anywhere I could stow this?" Daisy kicked the bag at her feet, for emphasis. "I'm leaving straight from here to spend the weekend with a friend, so I had to bring my stuff with me."

"Ah," Jemma said, jumping on the opportunity to get a more pleasant, innocuous conversation going between the three of them. "Do you have an exciting trip planned?"

Daisy snorted. "Not really. I'm just staying with a friend of mine across town, and it's not even my choice. Fitz is sick, and he always whines about being contagious if I don't find somewhere to evacuate to." She laughed a little. "If you ask me, he knows what a total pain in the ass he is when he gets even the tiniest sniffle, and wants us to be able to stay friends."

"We can lock that in my office," Jemma offered, but her mind was already racing to another idea as they walked back toward the elevators. She was grateful that Bobbi was heading this study and would be doing most of the talking, as Jemma had other plans to make while they gave Daisy what she'd need for her first article.

* * *

`To: stargazer@founders-faction`  
`From: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`

`In case you've noticed my absence in Exiken, I thought I'd let you know I'm sick. Nothing too bad, just a garden variety cold, I think.`

`I'd love to tell you I'm braving it like a champ, but if I run out of kleenex again, I might be over here praying for death.`

`Anyway, we should be back to competing for the fastest minigame times in a day or two.`

`I hope you're well, stargazer. (Whatever you do, don't catch this. It's miserable.)`

* * *

Jemma had looked for a casual way to find out from Daisy where she and Fitz lived, even just the street their building was on, but she'd come up empty. She'd thought she'd done a good job of being crafty about it, but the moment they'd finished signing Daisy out and she was out of earshot, Bobbi had turned to her, giving her a look that said she'd figured something out.

"All right, spill it."

"Spill what?" Jemma asked, her eyes wide with what she was sure was obviously fake confusion.

"Why were you trying to find out where Daisy lives? Or...oh my gosh. You're trying to find out where Fitz lives."

Jemma groaned. "Hunter told you, I take it?"

"That Fitz is your bird man?" Bobbi swatted her on the shoulder. "Yes, and I'm hurt. Why weren't you the one who told me?"

"I wasn't sure what to do about it. I was keeping it to myself until I felt more sure about things."

Bobbi took Jemma by the shoulders, pulling her closer. "Are you about to embark on some sort of geek mating ritual?"

"If you hadn't noticed, Bobbi, you're a scientist as well."

"I never said being a geek was bad. And mating rituals, well, they're even better," she added, giggling. "I guess you figured it out? What to do about Fitz being circuitbreaker?"

"Perhaps." Jemma frowned, wishing she felt as giddy about the whole thing as Bobbi apparently did. "It does, somewhat, depend on how Fitz reacts, as well."

"Wait. _Wait!_." Bobbi shoved her away from the guard's desk, into a shadowed corner of the lobby. "You're going to tell him? Are you doing it today?"

"No, not yet." She bit her lip, suddenly feeling indecisive. "Or at least, I don't plan to. I need to spend a bit more time with him. We need to get to know each other outside of all..." she gestured around herself, "...of this. This Simmtech vs. TRC nonsense. I have an idea who circuitbreaker is. I think Fitz and I need to learn more about each other before all the cards are on the table."

"Well, go get 'em, tiger." Bobbi patted her on the back, then seemed to realize something. "Oh, right. You can't visit him on his sick bed if you don't know where he is. Did you try Google?"

"Yeah," Jemma said, clicking her tongue in frustration. "Nothing."

"Wait." Bobbi's eyes had lit up, and she pulled Jemma closer to her, nodding subtly to something across the lobby from where they were.

When Jemma followed Bobbi's eyeline, she couldn't help but grin. This was perfect.

* * *

"Koenig," Jemma began, keeping her voice sweet and soft. "I've been meaning to check in with you. How are you settling in? Lance is making you feel welcome, I trust."

"Dr. Simmons!" Koenig said, looking shocked to see her. "I didn't think you'd...well, of course...yeah." He straightened his back. "Mr. Hunter has been a great supervisor. I'm settling in just fine."

"You can call me Jemma," she said, realizing a beat too late that she was laying it on a bit thick. "And I'm sure Hunter's already told you to call him either Lance or Hunter. We don't have to stand on ceremony here."

"Well, I appreciate that. Fitz was the same way at TRC."

"Oh, I'm glad to hear it." Jemma concentrated on keeping her voice even, not giving anything away. "Have you spoken to Fitz recently? Daisy was just here, and she mentioned he was sick. Just a cold, but I didn't know if you'd heard."

"Oh no! That's awful." Koenig looked genuinely troubled, which made Jemma feel more than a little guilty. "I didn't know. Fitz really hates being sick."

"Daisy mentioned she was going away for the weekend, and knowing he'll be on his own, I wanted to send over a card. Something to cheer him up." In her mind, Jemma was repeating, 'don't wince, don't wince, don't wince', because the set-up she was using to extract Fitz's address from Koenig sounded even more flimsy out loud than it had in her head.

"That's really nice of you," Koenig said, and he honestly looked touched on Fitz's behalf. "I'm sure he'd appreciate that."

"I have a problem, though. I forgot to get the address from Daisy before she left." Willing herself to sound as normal as possible, she said the thing she'd been working up to since she'd sidled up to Koenig. "I don't suppose you'd have it, would you?"

And that was how Jemma came to have a slip of paper with Fitz's address on it clutched in her hand a few moments later.

* * *

Fitz was miserable.

He'd gone into work that morning, only to have Coulson burst into his office a few hours later to send him home. Fitz had snapped at a few people, his annoyance and discomfort from the cold spilling over in a few situations where he would normally have been able to keep his cool. He'd apologized, of course, but that hadn't stopped Coulson from declaring him 'unfit for polite society', telling him to gather up whatever he could work on at home, and putting him in a cab.

The schematics he'd brought home were still sitting on the table, basically untouched even after he'd spent two hours looking them over. His head was so foggy and the interruptions from his cough and runny nose were so frequent that he could barely form a coherent thought.

When he'd given up on working, he'd wandered the apartment, taking a few of Daisy's dishes into the kitchen and straightening his own mess next to his laptop. The little flurry of housekeeping had been exhausting in his current state, and that was how he'd decided to stay on the couch. Any attempts at being useful today were overrated.

The television was blaring the tinny background music of an old black and white movie, and Fitz was flat on his back on the couch, a plaid blanket half-heartedly stretched over his legs. He was trying not to think about the used kleenexes littered over the top, after he'd decided that trying to put them in an even somewhat orderly pile on the floor required too much of his already scant energy, and neatness was overrated anyway. He could gather them up later, after the cold medicine kicked in and his nose and throat stopped feeling like they'd formed a pact to drive him mad.

His mind wandered, his thoughts a little feverish as he considered the events of the last few weeks. Though he would never admit it to Coulson, in the time since they'd changed TRC's mission statement, things were rapidly turning around.

The Boeing contract was awarded to them almost immediately, word coming down less than a day after Coulson contacted them with TRC's amended work requirements. Two other inquiries of theirs, for work Fitz would never have consented to before they'd lost the grant, were on the verge of being turned into solid opportunities. They might be standing up project teams within the week, if Coulson's instincts could be relied on.

Who would have thought that a shift in focus like this would be so incredibly and immediately effective? Fitz hated to even think it, but losing the Orion Foundation grant was possibly the best thing that had ever happened to TRC. Possibly even to Fitz himself.

The part of him that hated change was still feeling irrationally angry about the whole thing, even after things began to turn around, but that part was getting smaller and smaller every day. He'd had a few difficult moments, staring at the photo of himself and his dad he kept on his desk, but Fitz knew he had to be his own person, live his own life. He'd learned he could trust Coulson to present the ethical questions attached to each new project proposal, and that Coulson would accept his judgement as final, even if they disagreed.

After one last, enthusiastic blowing of his nose into a fresh tissue, he settled on his side, hoping the congestion would keep at bay long enough for him to catch a few hours of sleep. It was just as the consciousness was about to leave him that the buzzer pulled him back, its insistent drone cutting through the haze and pulling him to his feet before he was awake enough to realize he should just ignore it.

He shoved his finger against the button, muttering, "Yeah?"

There was a long silence, extended enough that he was about to assume someone had pressed their buzzer accidentally. Just when he was about to shuffle back to the couch to moan some more, a tentative, "Fitz?" came through the speaker.

"Simmons? What are you—" He stopped himself, remembering Daisy had said something about going to Simmtech to begin work on the blog posts covering their new progressive dementia study. "Daisy's not here. She thought you were meeting at Simmtech."

"I've met with her already, Fitz. I'm not here to see her. I'm here to see you." There was another pause and Fitz used that moment to look around his disaster of a living room. Under no circumstances could Jemma Simmons see this. "Fitz, could you buzz me in? I don't want to have this conversation shouted through speakers. Everyone passing by thinks I'm a lunatic."

"Simmons, I don't think that's a good—I'm ill. Contagious. If there's something you need to see me about, I should be back in the office next week. Perhaps Wednesday? Hard to say, this is pretty virulent." He was trying to lay it on thick, anything to delay her, to convince her not to argue with him. "My temperature is still trending upward, and the cough's pretty bad still. I mean, you're the biochemist. I don't need to tell you about viral shedding and transmission rates."

He'd just gotten the last words out, leaning his head against the door and enjoying the cool feel of it against his skin, when there was a brisk knock coming from the other side, causing him to jump away.

"Fitz, it's me. Please let me in. I'd really like to speak to you, and I'm willing to accept the risks."

"I—" he began, wondering how he'd failed to see this coming. Jemma Simmons hadn't gotten to where she was by not being determined and resourceful. Certainly finding a way around a security door wasn't beyond her powers. "Just a second, all right?"

"Of course," she called, and the sunny, obliging tone was much more at home in her voice than he would have anticipated.

He did a quick triage on the state of the room, deciding the used tissues and discarded cold medicine blister packs were the most severe issue. It made him feel light-headed, but he rushed around, grabbing all the trash he could, then kicking the rest of it under the couch. He dumped what he had in the kitchen garbage, wincing at the dishes piled on the countertops, and decided there was nothing he could reasonably do about that.

"Yeah, just one more second, all right?" he called, scurrying to his closet to find the unused bathrobe his mum had sent him last Christmas. Shrugging it on over his threadbare t-shirt and boxers, he was reminded how comically large it was on him. His mum apparently thought he'd been spending his years in America exclusively in the gym, he thought sourly, as the huge garment sagged along his shoulders and gapped at the front.

He'd run out of time to straighten up and he couldn't put it off any longer. It was time to find out what she wanted.

* * *

Jemma waited in the hallway, feeling a little silly with an entire box full of items balanced in her arms. She'd meant to pick up just a few things to show she was hoping he'd feel better soon, but it had all gone out of control.

Talking one of the few engineers Simmtech had on staff out of the latest copies of his science journals had taken some doing, ending in a call to Human Resources to give him two bonus PTO days. Then, once she'd decided to stop by the tea shop a few blocks away to pick out a 'get well' blend, she could hardly leave the nearby art supply store unvisited. She smiled down at the pencils she'd found there, along with the paper the salesperson had assured her was especially versatile, excellent at grabbing onto graphite, ink, or paint.

The two pints of ice cream, well, that had been a last-minute impulse buy. She'd bought them because she, as stargazer, had once speculated about circuitbreaker having a job creating ice cream flavors, and passing by the ice cream shop had reminded her fondly of their messages. If he really thought about it, she reflected, the entire box of items she was bringing him was an enormous pile of clues about her online identity.

The door opened suddenly and the tip of Fitz's nose, as well as a suggestion of the rest of his face, poked out. "Yes?" he asked, the chain still connected, and she tried not to wince at how much he seemed to want her to go away.

She put on a smile, braving it all as well as she could. "Perhaps you could let me in, Fitz? Just for a moment? I've brought you some things. I realize I might catch what you've got, but I'm willing to take the risk."

His sigh was, to his credit, fairly well restrained, and he mumbled, "Just a moment," before he closed the door to release the chain.

"I've brought you some presents," she said, trying to keep a sunny tone in her voice, hoping he'd let her stay long enough for them to spend a little time together. "Nothing too amazing, I'm afraid, just a few things I thought you'd enjoy as you convalesce."

He shifted awkwardly, yanking his robe closed a bit more, then tugging on the ends of the belt. "You really didn't have to do that."

"Well, of course I didn't. I did it because I wanted to." She re-adjusted the box in her arms, having a little trouble balancing it in the tiny vestibule with Fitz, but he was still blocking the way. He obviously didn't want her to stay, and she worked to keep the disappointment off her face. "So...if I could just set this down somewhere for you, I could—"

"Oh, of course," he said, grimacing a bit. "Sorry, I'm a bit slow when I'm not feeling well. Come in. I shouldn't be trapping you here by the door."

She giggled for a moment, relieved. "Why don't we get you settled wherever you were? On the couch? I can show you what I've brought and you can let me know where to put it away for you."

He gestured toward the armchair next to the couch and she sat, watching as he awkwardly slumped onto the couch. He started to pull his legs up to lie down, then appeared to think better of it, leaning back and pulling the blanket over himself instead.

"So," she began, pulling the journals out of the box first. "A bit of reading material."

He looked them over, reading the titles out loud with obvious surprise. "Advances in Robotics and Automation and the new Journal of Aeronautics and Aerospace Engineering? You don't subscribe to these, do you? They're a bit out of your field."

"I don't. I borrowed them from one of my employees."

"Well, I'll take care of them. I'm sure they'll want them back."

"Oh, I made it worth his while. You can keep these."

He held up the Journal of Aeronautics and Aerospace Engineering, flipping idly through the first few pages. "I have an inquiry in with their editorial board."

She smiled, just barely stopping herself from telling him she already knew, because circuitbreaker had told her. "Oh, I don't find that surprising in the least. I'm sure the paper will be brilliant. They'd be fools not to publish you."

"Well...we'll see." He sniffed, reaching for a tissue from the nearly empty box, groaning deep in his throat as he dabbed at his nose. Goodness help her, she found the whole thing utterly adorable. "It would be good for TRC, start raising our profile a bit."

She nodded, sifting through the box as she tried to decide what to show him next. "I don't know if you draw your schematics by hand or use a tablet, but I remembered some of the engineers I knew in school liked to use decent pencils and good paper when they were working on something. I brought you these, in case you get an idea for a new design while you're recovering."

With an unsteady hand, she pulled out the paper, then handed over the pencils, surprised at how nervous she felt. This seemed like a huge clue, and her cover story for buying the art supplies was more than a little flimsy.

"These are my favorite sort of pencils," he said, taking one from the bundle and rolling it between his fingers.

"I know," she said, almost to herself, and hoped he wouldn't notice. She'd zoomed in on the photo circuitbreaker had taken of his warbler sketch so many times, eventually noticing the label on the pencil poking into the side of the image.

"Hmmm?" Fitz asked, setting the paper and pencils carefully down on the table.

"Nothing. Just glad they might be of use."

"Yeah. Thanks, Simmons."

"Don't thank me yet. I've been saving the best for last. Your throat sounds quite irritated, so I'm glad I thought to stop by the ice cream shop."

His eyes lit up at that, and she handed over the first of the two pints.

"French vanilla," he read. "And I love this shop. Did you know they make and package all their flavors on-site?"

"I know vanilla might seem a bit boring, but this is just to get something a little cool on your throat. I didn't want to get you anything too exotic while you're not feeling well enough to enjoy it."

"This is my favorite, actually. Perhaps that means _I'm_ a bit boring."

"Of course not. It's mine, as well." She took out the next pint, smiling to herself and feeling silly that a simple thing like the two of them liking the same ice cream flavor could make her so happy. "I know it's not very pleasant to discuss, but you might find the cream makes your phlegm thicker."

"Simmons," he groaned, looking a bit queasy.

"Moving on," she said, briskly, "the other choice is a strawberry sorbet. Switch to that if...well, you know." She mimed a cough, enjoying the effort he put into his elaborately rolled eyes as a response.

"Don't want these to melt," he said, starting to get up. "I should put them—"

"Wait, there's something else..." She grabbed the tea, giving an uncertain look to the folder at the bottom of the box. She didn't know if it would seem right to broach that subject with him yet or not, but she had the ammunition ready, just in case. "I can take them to your freezer in a moment. I'm quite proud of this next one."

She produced the small bag, tied at the top with a string of raffia, and showed it to him.

"Wait, I recognize that..." he said, reaching out to trace a finger down the bag.

"It's from the tea shop a few blocks away. I know the packaging is a bit much, but I stopped in to put together a custom 'cold and flu' blend for you. Elderberry and chamomile, with just a hint of cornflower. I know it might not sound appetizing, but I've had it before, and it's quite good. There's lots of vitamin C, and the cornflower may ease your fever and congestion." She looked around, but couldn't tell which of the doors led to his kitchen. "If you could point me in the direction of a kettle, I could make a bit of this for you."

Fitz stood up, the abrupt change causing her to sit back, almost dropping the bag of tea. "No, no. I'm not so gone that I can't do it. Here, let me take that and the ice cream into the kitchen."

"I know this is odd, the two of us here like this," she said, her hand darting out to grab his to keep him here, and though she'd initiated it, she gasped at the contact. "Please let me help you. I don't mind at all, and there was one last thing I was hoping to discuss with you over a cup of tea."

"It's a disaster," he whispered, looking down at their joined hands. "The kitchen. It's a mess. It was Daisy's turn to do the dishes and she made me agree to do them if I was going to kick her out for the weekend, and I haven't felt up to—"

"Fitz, don't be ridiculous. I don't care what the kitchen looks like. You haven't been well and of course there'll be some disorder. Just..." she trailed off, her fingers closing around the folder, and she decided to jump all the way in. "...here. Read through this while I'm away." She looked around, remembering she didn't know where she was going. "But first, the kitchen? Which way?"

He pointed toward one of the doors and then took the folder, sitting back into the couch as he flipped it open. She was tempted to make a show of feeling faint at the sight of the mess in the kitchen to poke fun at him, but she decided that might make him more self-conscious than he already was.

* * *

He was several pages into the information in the folder when Jemma returned, two steaming cups of tea in her hands.

"This is interesting," he told her, barely looking away from the chart he'd been studying as he took his cup. "I had no idea how high the percentages were for law enforcement and government agents having their own weapons used against them."

"I didn't either, not until May—Melinda May?" she asked, waiting for Fitz's nod of understanding, "—brought me the data."

"You're trying to design a new biometric weapon. They already exist, Simmons. The work that's being done already in personal—"

"I've covered that later in the overview. Pages 13 through 15. We've developed a concept for a much more sophisticated biometric recognition system. Furthermore, when you reach pages 20 through 25, you'll see we're also proposing the design of a non-lethal projectile for use with this weapon. Very important, considering the statistics concerning the mis-application of lethal force by law enforcement."

Fitz shrugged. "Why would you show this to me?"

"Our engineers, they seem to think the overall physical design, the weapon tooling, the materials engineering, is over their heads. Even if they could tackle the design of the weapon itself, they're stuck on a way to include a large enough dose of the paralytic via the projectile to guarantee a safe and effective loss of consciousness." She stared at Fitz for a moment, realizing she could see the wheels turning in his mind, already thinking of ways to tackle the problems she'd just pointed out. "Simply put, they're not confident enough in their ability to produce something as precise and flexible as our concept demands."

One of his eyebrows went up, looking at her over the papers in his hands. "You want to partner on this?"

She nodded. "This, and other work in the future, if you'd consider it."

He let out a long breath, choked with a little cough at the end. "Why would you want to?"

She felt her smile faltering a bit. "I...I'm not sure I understand what you mean. Do you have ethical concerns about weapon design? The very nature of the project ensures the end product won't fall into unintended hands. Literally. And lives will be saved because of the non-lethality of the—"

"No, no. Your overview was comprehensive, and I don't have any reservations about those issues." He looked down, fidgeting with his oversized robe again. "I don't know why you'd trust TRC...or me."

"I thought we'd decided to put that behind us."

He nodded, but his forehead was still wrinkled in thought. "I put protesters outside your building."

"Don't be silly, Fitz. You didn't send them—"

"—I saw what Daisy was writing and I knew full well what it would lead—"

"—you've apologized, and I've accepted. It's time to move—"

"—I just don't see how you could—"

"—and I lied to you about who I was, or don't you—"

"—well, you had a good reason." He frowned at the end of their rapid-fire exchange. "How is he doing? His name is Joey, right? Is he any closer to making a decision?"

Jemma shook her head a little to change conversational gears, but was grateful for any opening to a more neutral discussion. "He's submitted several applications...two of the schools are here, in New York City. He's still a little unsure, but he sounds very optimistic." She paused, noticing how he was staring at her. "I think he'll be fine."

Fitz nodded. "You don't really need this." He held up the folder for emphasis. "Why are you coming to me?"

"Simmtech hasn't done enough to strengthen the rest of the scientific community in the city. We've been rather single-minded toward our own expansion. We don't do enough in the general community either." She took another deep breath, not wanting to break the amicable mood, but she knew the shadow of the past would hang over them until it was addressed. "Someone rather intelligent reminded me recently...the way I've run Simmtech to this point has been rather cutthroat."

His shoulders sank. "Simmons...I should never have said that. That day we ran into each other, that was the same day I announced the changes at TRC." He was working himself up, fisting his hands in the blanket, his feet restless on the floor between them. "The disruption of it stung, and I was still trying to come to terms with what we've had to do. It was wrong of me to—" 

Jemma reached out before she could stop herself, putting her fingers gently on his mouth to stop him. Their eyes locked, his wide and bright blue and seemingly seeing straight through her. She was sure he could pull the truth from her right now, look inside and find this last secret she was keeping from him, as everything around them seemed to stop.

It might have been a minute or it might have been an hour, but the spell eventually broke and Jemma pulled her shaking hand back.

"If we're to work together, Fitz, we'll need to get past these tiny issues of Simmtech nearly putting you out of business, and you being responsible for almost destroying our reputation." She'd whispered the words, still breathing hard from the contact between them.

"These tiny issues?" he asked, his voice small as he blushed and looked down at his lap.

"Yes. I know it seems impossible, Fitz..." She broke off, her heart racing as she couldn't stop herself from quoting circuitbreaker again, "...but I have a feeling you're enough of an impossible man to help me make it happen." 

He froze, blinking at her as though he was trying to remember something but simply couldn't put his finger on it, then shook his head a little. "My head's so fuzzy, Simmons. Sorry I'm a bit spacey."

"I should leave you to your recuperation, I think. Will your door lock behind me?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding as he yawned, stretching his arms over his head. "If you turn the lock on the doorknob."

"I'll do that, then. Here, let's get you settled." She moved to help him position the blanket as he groaned, rubbing at his sinuses.

"I can do it," he protested, his voice weak. She noticed he didn't fight her, though, as she tucked him in.

"I'll contact you next week about the joint project," she whispered, aware he probably wasn't registering anything she said, but she needed to say it anyway. After double-checking the lock, she left, letting the door click quietly closed behind her.

Leaning against the wall in the hallway, she hugged herself, taking a calming breath. They had quite a long way to go, but she couldn't have imagined a better start.


	12. Chapter 12

"Today's the day, huh, Turbo?"

Mack was standing in the doorway to Fitz's office, a welcome sight after Fitz had spent the morning worrying. He'd awakened a few hours before his alarm, preoccupied with thoughts of the new partnership he and Jemma would be starting that day.

"Yeah." Fitz took a deep breath, motioning for Mack to come in, and Mack closed the door behind himself without Fitz having to say anything. He was such an amazing friend, and Fitz suddenly realized it had been at least a week since he'd thought to ask Mack how anything was going for him.

"Do you need to talk?" Mack arranged his large frame in the guest chair, somehow looking simultaneously too big for the room and yet, also completely at home.

"I should probably be asking you that. Things have been so crazy with all the changes around here, the new projects starting, and it's been far too long since I've asked how you're doing."

"Oh, I'm fine. Nothing you should—"

"No," Fitz interrupted, holding a hand up. "Unless you don't want to talk about how you've been."

"Well..." Mack said, chuckling a little. "I know you've been busy, Fitz, you know I wasn't angry, right?" Fitz nodded, his interest piqued when Mack actually seemed a little embarrassed. "Everything's been...great."

"Yeah? That wouldn't have anything to do with someone whose initials are E.R., would it?" Fitz had never been great at this, the banter among friends about their relationships, but for Mack, he'd do his best.

"You can say her name, you know. It's not exactly a secret." Mack laughed again, looking somewhere over Fitz's shoulder for a moment, before he continued. "I've given her a nickname, actually. Yoyo."

"Because she's...really good with a yo-yo?"

"She's got so much energy, my girl. There's nothing she doesn't make time for. Someone needs her help? She's there, almost before they can finish asking. Can't figure out what she's doing with a fool like me."

"Ah, none of that. Look at all you've done for me, all the support you've given the company. You deserve someone who makes you this happy, and I know you must make her happy too."

"Hey, thanks, Turbo." Mack looked a little embarrassed again, but pleased. "Have you heard anything from your online girl?"

"Yeah, a bit," Fitz hedged, not sure he was ready to talk about any of this in his somewhat confused and preoccupied state. "I think we might try for another meeting, but she's mentioned she has a lot on her plate, and I've certainly got a full agenda here. It might have to wait a bit."

"Well, don't wait too long. You deserve someone who makes you happy, too."

"Yeah, all right, all right. That's enough of this sappy nonsense for one day," Fitz said, faking at least some of his impatience, and Mack countered with a shrug.

"Let's talk about some project timelines, then," Mack suggested. "Help you feel a little more normal?"

Fitz sighed, falling easily into a detailed scheduling debate with Mack, grateful yet again to have such good friends.

* * *

A few hours later, Fitz was nervous, continually wiping his sweaty hands on his pants as he watched the clock. He had a feeling Jemma's sense of punctuality was impeccable and precise, which meant he only had a few minutes to go before the reception desk buzzed to let him know she was here.

They were beginning work on the biometric weapons proposal, and she'd asked if they could work in one of the engineering labs at TRC. He had a feeling she was trying to make him more comfortable, letting the work begin on his home turf, but mild panic was overtaking him anyway.

He'd assumed, reading over the materials once his cold had subsided and his head had cleared, that she'd intended to create a Simmtech project team to work with a few of his engineers. When she'd called a few days ago to ask how he was doing, he discovered she'd planned to take on the biochem work herself, and hoped he would head the engineering effort.

How that had led to Jemma Simmons coming here to work with him for several hours, the two of them alone, he would never quite be able to remember.

"Fitz?" The receptionist's voice came, after a quick burst of static, over the intercom. "There's a Jemma Simmons here to see you?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to sound confident in case he was on speaker in the lobby. "Sign her in please, I'll be down to escort her up."

* * *

"Fitz, are you sure the conductivity of the materials you're proposing is adequate to gather the readings we'll need to make a positive match with the encoded data?" Simmons was stretched over the table, too far from his blueprints to stab at the notations she was questioning without taking her feet off the floor to throw herself forward. Her voice was exasperated and her carefully-done ponytail was askew after who-knows-how-many consecutive hours of nailing down specifics, and he would have worried she regretted this whole idea if she didn't look as completely exhilarated as he felt.

"Of course I am, Simmons. I would never have proposed this alloy if it wouldn't allow us to fulfill the project parameters. You aren't arguing with the hot dog man now, I'm an experienced engineer."

She blinked at him for a moment, then dissolved into giggles. "That hot dog man had the upper hand over both of us, I'll remind you."

"He did at that," Fitz agreed, laughing with her. 

She hopped down to her feet, checking the time and letting out a low whistle. "It's after seven. How did it get so late?"

"Oh, bollocks." Fitz frowned. He'd promised Daisy they could have a movie night, or at least, Daisy's version of one. She liked to pick out terrible old monster movies and talk back to the screen, throwing popcorn at irregular intervals. They hadn't had a night like that in an age. Things had been shaky in their friendship after the mess with the posts on her blog, and he knew it was important to set things right again. "I'll need to sign you out, Simmons. Sorry for the abrupt end, it's just that I'll be late for something if I don't leave now."

"Date?" Her tone was even, but the word stopped Fitz in his tracks.

"No," he said, after a long moment of considering her question. Despite the inexplicable pull he felt toward Jemma only getting stronger after spending these hours working together, he had to remember he had feelings for someone else. It shouldn't matter that he'd never met that person—might _never_ meet that person, judging by the way their messages were slowing down. It seemed...wrong, though, the way his breathing stuttered whenever Jemma grabbed his hand to make a point, or how he was struck dumb sometimes when she screwed her face into that pinched expression when she was arguing with him.

Though he had nothing approaching any sort of _understanding_ with stargazer, the little thrill Jemma Simmons, with her mere presence, sent down his spine felt...disloyal, somehow.

"It's just...that night in the café, you were waiting for a date, weren't you?" She bent down to pack a few things into her bag, her voice muffled as it was pointed more at the floor than at him. "I assume you found out why they were late? You seemed quite worried."

"I did, yes." His instincts told him to keep his answers brief, as the sensation of having this conversation with her was confusing in a way that was, oddly, not entirely unpleasant.

"So she...he? They're okay?"

"She," he clarified. "She seems to be fine, from what I can tell."

Jemma looked up from where she was kneeling on the floor, cocking her head to the side with mild confusion. "Oh, was it a blind date? No wonder you were so quick to be angry with me that night. I find blind dates terribly nerve-wracking."

"I wasn't angry with you," he protested, though he knew it was a bit of a lie. "And it wasn't a blind date..." He winced, wondering why he was still talking. "...exactly." That last tacked-on word sounded pathetic, once he heard it out loud, and he covered his eyes so she wouldn't see him rolling them at himself.

"Daisy set you up with someone?" 

"No. I know her from..." He paused, but he knew it would sound even dumber the longer he waited to say it. "I know her from the internet. From a game."

"Ah!" Jemma sounded delighted, happy for him in a completely unconflicted way, and the easy sound of her voice made him want to kick something. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Fitz. Lots of people meet their significant others online these days. If you're anything like me—and I suspect you are—you're here at work more often than not. Of course you don't have time to stand around in bars chatting people up. You're quite sensible, really."

"Well, I'm not certain we'll ever meet," he said, wondering how Jemma would react. "It's possible we're more suited to being friends, sticking to online messages."

"Nonsense, Fitz. You don't seem like the type to take chances capriciously. You must truly like her if you were willing to make the leap. You should try to arrange another meeting. As long as you're dealing with so much change already, why not try for this one, too?"

"I..."

That was as far as he got before Jemma was hoisting her bag over her shoulder, then standing to take his arm.

"Come on, let's walk each other out. You can tell me more about her on the way, why you're reluctant to push for a second try at a meeting."

"I never said I was reluctant—"

"I wonder why she didn't make the first meeting," Jemma wondered aloud.

"Perhaps she decided it wasn't worth the risk."

"Nonsense," she said, batting his shoulder. "I'm sure you're just as charming online as you are in person, Fitz. You're quite well-spoken when more than two words in a row are coaxed out of you."

"Simmons," he groaned, about to beg her to stop speculating, but she launched into another theory before he could stop her. 

"Perhaps she isn't as she was representing herself, and she didn't know how to tell you. She thinks she's unattractive?"

He sighed as they got into the elevator. There appeared to be no way out of this conversation other than through it. "Don't care about that."

"You should ask her again. Life is short."

He was a bit distracted as Simmons told him goodbye once they'd left the building, and he found himself agreeing to meet her at Simmtech on Monday morning to continue their work.

* * *

`To: stargazer@founders-faction`  
`From: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`

`We haven't been talking enough, and that's at least half my fault. Probably more.`

`My occasional silence has been for the best possible reason. (I hope yours has been, as well.) Things with my business are turning around, after I've made some rather large changes. My workload has easily doubled. Finding time to take an Exiken walk, or more importantly, think of something impressive to message you, has been difficult. It hasn't been for lack of wanting to.`

`Please let me know how you've been. I walk home after dark most nights, now, and looking up at the stars always makes me think of you. It's ridiculous and far too sappy, but I always find myself hoping you're doing the same at that moment...hoping we can share that, if nothing else.`

`It's an awkward segue, but I don't think I'd be myself without a good awkward segue. Thinking of you, of our meeting that didn't happen, I wanted to tell you something. If you're afraid there's something I'll discover about you that would put me off, I can't assure you enough how wrong that is. If there's something, anything specific holding you back, please know that it won't change this pull toward you that I feel. It won't make me want to know you any less than I do right now.`

`I don't know what kept you from our meeting, but I can tell you that whatever it was, it won't matter to me. We can talk about it here, if you like. If it's something you think would change my mind, you don't have to be afraid to tell me. If it's *anything*, you can tell me.`

`I just wanted you to know that.`

* * *

`To: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`  
`From: stargazer@founders-faction`

`I've been looking at the stars as well, my dear friend, though I've been busy and far too distracted with a project I can't put off any longer. I can't commit to meeting you until this is behind me, but as soon as it is, we'll meet and talk the day away until we can both look up at the stars together. I just need a bit more time.`

* * *

Jemma checked her phone, realizing she'd gotten through much more of her podcast than she'd anticipated, and sighed when she saw Fitz was ten minutes late. She'd asked Koenig to sign Fitz in and escort him to her, mostly because she thought the two of them might like to have a few moments to catch up. Figuring they still had ample opportunity to complete the work they'd left for today, she allowed herself to get lost again in the intricacies of their biometric snapshot. 

Just when she'd decided her new vein pattern analysis mapping algorithm allowed for the best balance between accuracy and efficiency, she was startled out of her work by the distant rumble of conversation in the hallway, rapidly getting louder as they got closer. She could make out Fitz's brogue running as an undercurrent to the more familiar sounds of Bobbi and Hunter's voices, and she pulled out one of her earbuds, intrigued.

By the time she turned around, they'd all begun to burst into the lab—Koenig, Hunter, Bobbi, Daisy, and Fitz, all walking together and in one cacophonous, chaotic discussion. Bobbi seemed to notice the interruption they'd caused first, stopping Hunter with a smack in the middle of his chest, and the rest of them followed suit.

"Sorry, poppet," Hunter said. "I'm sure you're brilliant enough that whatever breakthrough you were about to make will come back to you eventually."

"What on _earth_ ," Jemma began, laughing at how this group of unlikely allies looked so at ease in each other's company. "Don't let me interrupt." She shrugged, deciding it might be time for a break.

"We had a bit of an idea," Hunter said. "Why don't you tell her about it, Fitz?"

She almost burst out laughing again at the alarm on Fitz's face when Hunter put him on the spot. "I don't think we had anything worked out, not really. And I wasn't sure how long you'd want to work this afternoon, Jemma."

"We won't be here all night, if that's what you're worried about. I'm sure we could—"

"See, Fitz? I told you." Hunter looked pleased, hooking his arm around Fitz's shoulders. "You and Koenig, Call of Duty at my place, as soon as you can get away. And invite your friend...Mike?"

"Mack. Yeah, sure. I'll send him a text." Fitz looked slightly uncomfortable, but also secretly pleased. Jemma would have been delighted to see them all getting along, if not for her concern about ulterior motives Hunter might have.

"Ugh, what is this boy's club stuff?" Daisy looked at Bobbi, who was also frowning at Hunter.

"You're welcome to come along, loves, but there's only so many people who can play at once." Hunter shrugged. "Maybe we can mix the groups up a bit next time?"

"So, girl's night, then?" Bobbi proposed, earning a low whistle of approval from Daisy.

"I'm in." Daisy shot Jemma an uncertain look. "Jemma, you can't leave the two of us on our own. Someone has to come along and be the voice of reason."

"Yes, of course," she told them, touched when Daisy looked quite happy that she'd accepted. "But for now, you'd better leave us to work. We'll never get out of here at a decent hour otherwise."

"Right. Yes." Fitz ducked away from Hunter, taking the printouts Jemma was handing to him and frowning down at them.

"I just need to see Hunter in the hallway for a moment, all right?" Jemma whispered to Fitz, who nodded distractedly at her, already engrossed in the data she'd prepared for him.

Once she'd cornered Hunter in the hallway, she asked him point-blank if he was going to do anything she should be concerned about, frowning at the hurt look he gave her in response.

"Jems, honestly, I just want to get to know the guy. He seems like a decent bloke, away from all this rivalry business. Whether you ever tell him you're stargazer or not, it seems we'll be working with him on at least a few projects, and the two of you seem to be getting on quite well in person, or hadn't you noticed? It's time we all buried the hatchet."

She tried to think of a response, but when none came, she settled for throwing her arms around his midsection, squeezing the air out of him until he was jokingly coughing, his laugh rumbling in her ear.

"Thank you, Hunter. You're lovely, did you know that?"

"I did know that, in fact." He winked at her. "I'm delightful."

* * *

Fitz looked across the lab at Jemma, realizing they hadn't spoken in almost an hour, but he still felt a thousand times more engaged with his work when they were together than he ever did on his own. He didn't know why he'd gone this long without a working partner before, but then again, he hadn't met Jemma Simmons until a few weeks ago.

He'd settled into some solitary calculations and coding a while ago, and Jemma had immediately sensed his need for quiet, smiling at him as she popped her earbuds in and started listening to something on her phone. She'd found some data to study, sitting with perfect posture on one of the high lab stools as she looked at a half-dozen papers spread out in front of her, a gentle smile on her face.

He waved to get her attention, his breath catching when her smile bloomed into something wider and sunnier as she removed the earbuds.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember that Jemma Simmons wasn't the person he was supposed to be noticing this way, thinking about this way. When he read over messages from stargazer, it all seemed clearer—until the next time he saw Jemma, and then he was conflicted again.

"What are you listening to?" he asked, not sure where the question came from, other than this difficult-to-suppress need to know more about her. "Daisy's always after me to listen to new music, rather than the same four bands I've listened to since college," he stammered, trying to justify the question. "I thought maybe you could give me a recommendation."

"Ah, it's not music, I'm afraid." She looked tentatively down at her phone, then turned the screen toward him so he could read it.

"StarTalk."

"Yes. With Neil deGrasse Tyson? I assume you've have heard of it."

"Of course I've heard of it," he began, trying to think of some way to voice his opinion without offending her, but it was all coming out before he could stop himself. "I can't believe you're listening to that _rubbish_."

Her eyes widened, a surprised, high-pitched noise of disbelief escaping her. "Rubbish? Fitz, with all the community outreach you're responsible for, I thought you of _all people_ would respect the work Dr. Tyson is trying to do to bring science concepts to the masses."

"Yeah, well? I don't." He knew he sounded petulant, but he didn't care.

"Why?" she asked, through a laugh, the single syllable almost too obscured to make out. 

"He killed Pluto."

"Fitz!" She was laughing in earnest now, almost doubled over for a moment before she straightened up. "He did no such thing."

"All right, he wasn't involved in the decision to demote it to dwarf planet, but he popularized the change. He put in an entire exhibit at that bloody, overblown excuse for a—"

"Are you referring to the Hayden Planetarium? The _Hayden Planetarium_? Developers of the 3-D Digital Universe, home of a state-of-the-art Zeiss star projector, and responsible for funding and encouraging research into countless areas of scientific study?"

"Yes." He felt a bit sillier now, though he'd crossed his arms and squared his shoulders, holding up his side of the argument as well as he could.

"Fitz, you know the reclassification of Pluto was a necessary step in refining our model of the solar system, don't you?"

"Yes." He certainly sounded ridiculous now, but he didn't plan to back down.

"Why does it bother you so much?" She wasn't laughing anymore, and her voice was soft, a look that might even have been hopeful gracing her face.

"I quite like Pluto," he said, barely above a whisper. "I have a soft spot for it."

"I do too," she replied, looking directly at him for far longer than necessary. He wondered if they'd be frozen in this moment forever until she cleared her throat, putting her phone in her pocket and stuffing the earbuds in after it. "Perhaps we should stop here for the day. You wouldn't want to keep Hunter waiting."

"Yeah," he agreed, feeling a little empty after the electricity between them died away. "Wouldn't want that." He helped her neaten up, robotically moving the materials they'd pulled out back to their proper places, but his mind wasn't on their work.

This odd moment they'd shared...it just fed a theory he'd conjured up as he'd been recovering from his cold, once his mind had started to clear.

When he thought about all the items she'd brought him the day she'd visited when he was sick, all of them reminded him of conversations he'd had with stargazer. It had required a trip back through every message they'd exchanged, but he'd even been able to connect the ice cream, of all things, to stargazer.

Now...he could add to that her obvious interest in astronomy, which wasn't in either of her fields of study...and more importantly, the way she'd acted when he'd brought up Pluto. One of his favorite messages, the moment she'd found a way to say exactly what he needed to hear, and it had been a Pluto metaphor stargazer had used.

He'd become more and more preoccupied with the idea that Jemma Simmons, somehow, was stargazer.

The odds against it were almost incalculable. It was just as likely that half the women he'd passed on his walk over here were stargazer, rather than Jemma. He knew this was really just his mind hoping for a connection that just couldn't be there, but he couldn't let the idea go. 

Surely he was seeing associations between the two of them because that was the only way to miraculously solve all of his problems. That had to be it, didn't it? 

After all, it would be the only way he could justify falling for both of them at the same time.

* * *

The phone rang several times as Jemma paced her office, hoping she wouldn't have to awkwardly stammer through a message. At least if she spoke to Fitz in real time, he might not have time to notice how nervous she was.

"Simmons?" Fitz's voice came crackling over the line and she couldn't stop herself. She grinned at the mere sound of his voice, making him repeat himself, apparently worried that she couldn't hear him.

"Ah, now the signal appears to have cleared up," she said, covering for her protracted silence. "I was hoping you might not have plans for this Saturday."

"No, no," he answered, and she smiled again at how quickly his answer came. "Did you want to do a last-minute polish on the proposal before we submit it?"

"Actually, I was hoping you might allow me to take you to the Hayden Planetarium." She paused, as his full-bodied laugh erupted in her ear. "I've worked with you enough at this point, Fitz, to know you're quite capable of opening your mind to new opinions and conclusions. Let me take my best shot at rehabilitating the image of the poor place in your eyes, would you?" When the laughter, though dying away, was still echoing from his end, she decided to lay it on even thicker. "As a personal favor to me? It's really the least you can do."

"Yes, of course, Jemma," he said, and her heart sped up a bit. He'd never called her Jemma before. It was 'Simmons' most of the time, and even 'Aunt J' a few times when he was trying to be a pest, but her first name had been untrodden territory until now. "But only if you'll let me buy lunch."

She agreed and they set up a time to meet, Jemma ending the call with a little thrill of excitement. Now there was just one last thing she needed to do.

* * *

`To: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`  
`From: stargazer@founders-faction`

`I believe I've done everything I can to bring my project to completion, and I can give you my full attention. Would you still like to meet?`

`I've marked that hotly-contested access point in the 91st Street Garden on my game map. Let's meet there. 5:00 p.m.? Saturday?`

* * *

`To: stargazer@founders-faction`  
`From: circuitbreaker@founders-faction`

`Of course. I'll be there, waiting for you.`

* * *

Jemma spent the rest of the week nervous, expecting Fitz to contact her at any moment and cancel their not-exactly-a-date outing to the planetarium now that he had plans with stargazer later that day. They did speak, several times, in fact, but only about new project ideas for Simmtech and TRC to partner on. Friday came and went, and on that crisp, chilly Saturday morning, they met outside the Hayden Planetarium.

She waited through most of the day—half a dozen exhibits, lunch in the cafeteria, and a show she would have thoroughly enjoyed had she not been utterly preoccupied with Fitz sitting next to her—before she finally broke, unable to stay in suspense any longer.

"I have plans this evening, Fitz," she said, innocently, as they were walking out of the theater. "I'll probably need to leave soon, to have time to go home and get ready."

"Date?" Fitz asked her, and she panicked a little. She wasn't sure how to answer, and she was so on edge that her thought process wasn't entirely clear.

"No comment." She tried to deliver it with some humor, but his face darkened at her answer.

"I actually..." he began, then pressed his mouth shut again, apparently hoping she'd fail to notice he'd begun to say something.

"Oh, do you have plans?" If she could have gotten away with it, she would have squeezed her eyes shut, but she merely held her breath, waiting for his answer.

"A...date...actually." His answer was halting, uncertain, and he stopped in the middle of the walkway as though he'd forgotten how to use his legs.

She pulled him off to the side and acted intrigued. "Really? Oh! Is this the person you were waiting for—"

"Yes," he said, cutting her off. 

"So things have been going well?"

"Yes. Quite well, really." He was trying to sound upbeat, but looked miserable. Jemma had never been quite this happy to see someone so troubled and conflicted.

"So she's got you in the perfect position. You can't imagine anyone else you could be with."

"Simmons..." he began, but he stopped there, looking even more unhappy than a moment ago.

This was it. This was her one and only chance to make her case to him as Jemma Simmons, hoping he would understand how she felt about him in every possible incarnation. Perhaps he could find a way to forgive her for keeping this secret for far too long.

"If I hadn't been Simmtech," she said, facing him until he looked up at her, "taking the contracts and winning the grants..."

"Jemma..." he said, his voice raspy and low.

"I would have asked you to tea. Or a walk. Or to work with you and create something neither of us could achieve without the other. Until the cosmos drags us apart."

"I know, Jemma." He could barely get the words out, his throat sounding dry and hoarse. "I know."

"I wish we could put it behind us, Fitz, and that your heart didn't already belong to someone else. If you could forgive her for standing you up, I don't know why you can't forgive me for this little matter of...turning your entire life upside-down."

He was nodding, his eyes dropping down to the floor as he bit his lower lip. It was on the tip of her tongue, a confession that she was stargazer, and she had the proof right there in her pocket. She could end this now, put them both out of this misery, but she couldn't do it here, in this noisy crowd, with all these distractions. She could feel the tears coming and knew she had to get out.

"Jemma, I..." He seemed to crumple, all the fight going out of his body as he swayed a little there, in front of her. "I know."

"I...I think I'll go now, Fitz. All right?" He met her eyes again, a storm of need and conflict and pain in his as he looked at her.

She managed to squeeze his hand and turn away, walking briskly through the crowd until she was outside again, before the tears finally came.

* * *

He got to the access point a half-hour early, and he imagined he would be wearing a groove into the pavement soon where he was pacing. His Exiken app was open, if only as some sort of early warning system for her approach, and he'd half-heartedly tried to recapture the point where they were meeting. He could understand why she'd chosen this location, of all places, as it would surely take the both of them attacking it together to flip the point over for their team.

It would have seemed symbolic and wonderful to him just a few weeks ago, before everything had gotten so confused.

The time ticked by like it was slogging through molasses, every minute hard-won and eternal as they passed. He couldn't put a label to what he was feeling, or perhaps, it was more that he was feeling every emotion at once and he'd become overloaded, unable to process anything.

When it was nearly time for her to appear, he watched on the map as the red and yellow access points he'd hurried past in his haste to get to their meeting point began to flip to blue. It was agony, watching her path through the city toward him, finally entering the park and getting closer every moment.

The last point before he would be able to see her went into its battle animation, and Fitz was sure he would either be sick, pass out, or possibly both. His hands on his hips, he began pacing again, his heart hammering out of his chest.

After the final point shaded itself blue, he turned around, unable to face her, too afraid and confused to even understand what he wanted anymore. He counted out the seconds, wondering how close she would get before he would hear her, when he realized the only way to face this was head on.

He turned slowly, his eyes running over the trees with their changing leaves, the flowers in their last push to bloom before winter, and he saw her.

Coming toward him, holding her phone out and meeting his eye with a shrug, was Jemma Simmons. He was moving before he registered the impulse to meet her halfway, drawn toward her as though a fundamental force of the universe was pushing them together.

But really...wasn't that what this was?

She handed him her phone when they were close enough, and though he didn't really need to see it, he found 'stargazer' on the screen.

"Jemma—"

"Fitz, wait. Before you say anything, _please_ let me explain. I didn't know who you were until that night at the café, and I wanted to tell you even then. I wanted to tell you _so badly_. We just weren't ready, Fitz, we really weren't."

"Jemma—"

"I'm so sorry. You _have_ to believe me. I wish we could have both found out at the same time, or that you could have had more choice in the matter. I feel _awful_ , and I know you must be so angry with me."

"Jemma." He leaned down to catch her eye, anything to get her to stop and really see him, but she'd clearly made a plan for this. He knew quite well there was no stopping Jemma Simmons when she had a plan, so he took her hands instead, running his fingers over hers and relishing in the softness and warmth of her skin.

"I was just so sure you hated me, or at least were very angry at the situation. It was the worst possible time, that night we were first supposed to meet. And I've wanted to tell you so many times since then, Fitz. Every moment we spent together, really. If you're feeling hurt, or taken advantage of, I completely understand. You'll probably need some time, some space, and—"

He surged forward and kissed her, pulling her into his arms to drink her in, this amazing creature who was, just as he'd hoped, everything he would ever want or need. She froze for a moment before she returned the kiss, but once she'd recovered, he found this was yet another area where she could more than give him a run for his money.

They broke apart, after he'd poured everything of his feelings for her, for stargazer, for Jemma, into this new connection between them. She still looked uncertain until he let it all play over his face, his relief, the swell of joy he felt to finally have her in his arms, and she allowed herself to smile back at him.

"So...not angry with me, I take it?"

He laughed. "I'll forgive you for all of it, just this once...if you can forgive me for being an absolute arse. Many times over."

She pretended to think about it, giving him a quick nod before she pulled him into another kiss he had to reluctantly pull away from once their hands were beginning to wander more than he was strictly comfortable with in a public place.

"I wanted it to be you," he whispered into her skin, as they floated there together, his cheek pressed against hers. "I don't know what I would have done if it hadn't been you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still with me, thank you so, SO much for coming along for the ride. I hope you've enjoyed the story, and if you love either of the source material movies, you feel I've done them justice. Eternal thanks go to lettertoelise and chinesebakery for their help with editing, storyline brainstorming, and general support. Thanks also to The Fitzsimmons Network on Tumblr for running the Rom Com challenge, without which this story would not exist. And a final thanks to all the commenters and kudoers--you make all the work worthwhile.


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